


As Earth is to Sky

by ParadoxinMotion



Series: Essential as Earth [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 20's AU, Angst, Armin is a mechanic, Drinking/implied drunkenness, F/M, Jean Has Issues, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-21 18:50:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 53,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3702347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxinMotion/pseuds/ParadoxinMotion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the Spring of 1924, Armin Arlert moves from Michigan to New York city on behalf of his grandfather. Entranced by his new surroundings, he works as a specialised mechanic on various automotives underneath Erwin Smith. He hides his personality underneath the hoods of the cars he loves, and resolves to conceal his desires under the veneer of diligence. His quiet world is brought into startling display, however, when a chance encounter with a man from a bar leads him to challenge his life, his motives, and his very reasoning.</p><p>(ON TEMPORARY HOLD DUE TO COLLEGE MADNESS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Light

**Author's Note:**

> So, you guys may know that I like to tell a bit of a story before we begin the story. I got into anime a few months ago. Like, shamelessly so. When I discovered this beautiful fandom of SNK, I wasn’t two episodes into the season before I shipped Eremin like UPS. The sad things was that, when I looked here for fics, it seemed sadly devoid. Please understand, there are so so many gorgeous, beautiful works on here for this fandom, and I’m so grateful to you all. So maybe, this whole thing is just my love-letter to those writers. And to all my readers who have stuck with me. *Spreads arms in an encompassing gesture.* I love all of you. :P
> 
> I'm not sure about how updating this will go, but I'm looking at about once a week. If a hiatus needs to occur, I'll try to let you know the chapter beforehand. 
> 
> I will conclude this ridiculously long schmeal by saying that if you're interested in having a chat or just curious about myself, my tumblr is Mypromisetojonathan. I love nothing better than talking to you all. :)

**-=-=-=-=-**

_The first time I say I love you, your face_  
crumbles. You look at me  
the way man stares in terror  
at the stars and the sea.

 _You grasp your head, fist_  
your hair, hiss, whisper why me  
why me I am weak I am  
dirt I am dust I am  
nothing—

 _Why you? Because_  
the earth is made of dust  
and dirt and you are as  
essential to me as earth  
is to sky; you give me something  
to set my sun against.

 _The dirt and the dust are not_  
weak. I could build a house  
out of you; you are the roof  
when I rain.

(whatladybird.tumblr.com)

 **-=** -=-=-=-=-=-=-

_Spring, 1924-_

The fog was rolling over the platform as the train began to move. Pistons squeaked, and axels groaned along with several of the passengers arranged by class.

The second-class carriage, however, was the one of interest.

The straps of a leather satchel were clutched in two slender hands, leading into the sleeves of a well-cut grey suit. Uncharacteristically long, blonde hair framed the otherwise pale features of the young man travelling the railroad.

All these things were observed by an older man watching the younger leave. ‘Young man’ still seemed so stiff to what he was used to saying…But this was no longer the little boy he’d raised in place of the parents he’d never know.

As the train carried his (not so) little boy away, he felt a pang blossom in his chest. It wasn’t right that the young should have to pay for what the elderly did not. But such was as how things were.

He would do well, at least. Of that the old man was sure. There was pride as well as pain in his eyes as he watched the train grow farther and farther away from him.

Armin had never let him down before.

He wouldn’t start now.

-=-=-=-=-

Armin opened his briefcase for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, though in reality it was something closer to ten. His fingers rifled through papers until he selected the right one. The contract for his new job, typed in clean, though slightly smudged, typewriter ink.

‘Mr. Arlert,

We were very flattered to receive your offer of services. Your grandfather worked hard in this company for many years, and we are eager to see what talents you have to bring to the table. We will be happy to welcome you upon your arrival to New York, and hope you will get comfortably settled in.

With sincerest regards,

_Shinganshina Automobile and Co.’_

 

It was a kind letter. A tad patronizing, but that was to be expected. He was the youngest person to have a job at this company, and his previous work was no indication that he would flourish elsewhere.

Still. His hands unconsciously tightened, crumpling the paper slightly. He was going to do everything they asked, and then he would make partner, and then he was going to make sure his grandfather would live comfortably for the rest of his life.

After that? Who knew. Armin preferred to live in the present. In his mind, this service for his grandfather was not an act of kindness so much as it was a debt to be repaid. His motivation was driven by his resolve-to move forward into the future and leave behind the past. A past full of fear and lack of strength; blinded by apprehension.

New York.

He’d never been there before. But maybe this would be a good place for a new start, too.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The train ride was hours upon hours of clicking, groaning, whistling boredom. Armin had no paperwork to finish, or even books to read. He had packed the bare minimum of luggage to avoid having to pay extra. It wasn’t as if he was _poor,_ but every little bit helped.

He fell asleep after lunch, hoping that he would be able to avoid having to muscle his way into the painfully small food carriage already crammed with first-class passengers attempting to eat a meal. It was too noisy, and too jostled, and despite the fact that being in first-class generally meant one was of gentility, there was a great deal of rudeness. But. It was hardly his place to judge, as he was painfully reminded when a particularly loud pair of ‘gentlemen’ shared their opinions on what they called ‘The fucking queers.’ A flush crept down Armin’s fair-skinned face at the hatred and fear in their voices; how very _scared_ they were. And of him? Of people like him? He stared at the reflection his face made in the cooling cup of coffee. How would they react to find that one of the very creatures they were speaking of was sitting just a few feet away at his table?

He shivered and got up, appetite gone. His reassurances seemed to have crumbled; that he was _safe_ here; where no one knew his name and no one had even a fucking speck of dirt on him.

The thought only gave him comfort as he sat in his seat, resting against the cushioning. Murky day faded into inky night, and by the time he woke up, most of the passengers had gone to the bunk-cars.

He stood up and groggily shuffled towards the dimly lit room. Once there, he didn’t even bother getting fully undressed; choosing instead to pull off his jacket and shoes before curling up on the small bed.

Someone close by was snoring terribly.

The sound and his previous nap kept him well up into the night, watching a pale slip of the moon through the curtained windows. Head pillowed on his folded arms, he wondered about New York and what it would be like. And what the people there would be for him to meet.

-=-=-=-=-

The shrill whistle of the train jolted him out of a sleep he hadn’t known he’d been taking. Armin sat up, barely avoiding getting his head banged on the framework. People were milling around; getting bags and moving towards the front. The blonde boy moved towards the doors, where pale sunlight streamed through the now-open doors.

“Which stop is this?” He inquired of a middle-aged gentleman in a red cloth cap.

The man gave him an incredulous stare. “Did ‘ee have a rough night or somethin’? We’re in New York, ‘f course!”

Oh.

Armin turned around, eyes widening as his hands gripped the slender rails set against the doorframes for people heavy-laden with baggage to have something to grip. Even the air tastes different as he pulls it into his lungs, expelling it with his nose.

“Yes, I suppose we are,” he said softly.

The man gave  him a hearty clap on the back, which Armin’s ribcage protested against. “Beauty, isn’t she?”

He could only nod, able to say for once that the breath he had been taking a moment ago was well and truly stolen.

_It’s overwhelming._

He had never seen so many people crammed into one place before. It was as if the very station was humming with life, eager to receive every passenger; every passer-by.

“Yer not from around here, huh?” The somewhat clingy gentleman inquired.

 _What an obvious question,_ Armin thought, slightly annoyed. But he offered the man a smile and shook his head. “No, I’m from Michigan.”

“Must be a big change,” the employee offered helpfully.

Soft blonde hair fanned around his face in tiny waves as Armin nodded. “It’s extremely loud.”

The man laughed a trifle raucously. Armin hoped that his fellow employees valued being more quiet. “Just wait ‘til you take a cab.”

“Perhaps I’ll consider walking,” he answered faintly.

A shrill whistle blew, making him start. The man seemed completely unaffected except that he grabbed his canvas bag. Armin felt slightly guilty for the relief the small gesture triggered.

“This is my stop,” the gentleman announced. “’Twas a pleasure meetin’ ya!”

Armin smiled slightly as he shook hands heartily, and the man hopped off and pushed into the crowd. He was gone in mere seconds, as if swallowed up by water instead of a sea of people.

“Next stop: New York, New York!” The loud voice of the conductor filled the narrow space and was swallowed up by hundreds of other speakers, all with destinations in mind.

Armin stepped away from the doors as people began boarding, and eventually decided to just get back to his seat before someone accidentally crushed him. That wouldn’t be the best way to end the career he didn’t even have yet, he reflected with a wry twist of his mouth.

One hour, and he would be in New York. Two, and he would be at his apartment. By tomorrow, he’d be meeting a whole new group of people.

He just very, very much hoped that they were the strong and silent types.

-=-=-=-=-

This was nothing like Michigan.

This was louder, more raucous, and infinitely more alluring.

It was a cool spring day, but the city seemed to be driven by a relentless breeze that had Armin shivering as he waited on the curb for his first cab.  

No one looked at you in this city. It felt like he didn’t exist. Eyes glued to the pavement, coats swishing in the wind, feet making a dull _thud_ against the pavement. It took him far too long to get a cab, and later he would learn it was because he wasn’t yelling nearly loudly enough. Later he would look back and wish he wouldn’t have to.

The cab driver was not nearly as cheerful as the man on the train had been; he practically _snapped_ his questions at a terrified Armin as he climbed inside. Where did he want to go, did he know that they charged per mile, didn’t he know the man had other places to be?

 _Like where?_ Armin wondered, clutching his bag. _Your job is taking_ other _people places all day._

Nevertheless, he did not pose this question, and chose to sit quietly and watch the landscape slide by in a colourful blur.

This was a little difficult, because the cabby yelled at everything. From the weather to his questions to his irritated jibes at other cabs and pedestrians. It was so bad that Armin was ready to scream his frustration along with him as the cab stopped in front of a pale grey apartment complex.

“Here you are,” the driver said gruffly. (Armin would never again wonder why all cabbies seemed to have such coarse voices.) “Need ‘elp with your bag?”

“No, thank you, it’s quite alright,” Armin assured, possibly a trifle _too_ quickly as he scrambled out of the car. He paid his fare on the sidewalk and set his eyes on the front door, guessing that the cabby would leave as soon as he had finished counting it out.

Heat sprawled like a lazy cat across the warm stone of the doorway; elegantly put together and cracked with age. The windows above spanned at least four stories, and there were even a few potted plants on some of the terraces. Armin smiled at a lady hanging her laundry on the apartment next to his and rang the doorbell.

It was answered by a thin woman with a pleasant smile on her face; a jacket slung over her left arm.

“Can I help you?”

“Yes, ah, I’m the new tenant? Armin Arlert.”

“Oh!” Her face brightened and she stood back to let him in. “I didn’t expect you quite so early. You must have taken the first train yesterday, huh?”

He nodded. “Did my best to have a day before work.”

“Very diplomatic.” She winked and shut the door, then acquired a more business-like manner. “Right! So, we already have your paperwork out of the way, you know when rent’s due each month…any other questions?”

“Will you wash my clothes?” Armin inquired, gesturing to the decidedly masculine article of clothing.

She laughed. “Sorry, but you’ll have to take care of that on your own. I _can_ refer you to a few good services, though, if you need. But this belongs to my man, Joseph. He’s out to see his mum today, so I figured I might as well clean up ‘is things while I can.”

Armin decided abruptly that he liked her. “Ah, well. More’s the pity. If you could be so kind as to show me to my place, I think that’s all I need for now.”

“Of course, of course!” She tutted, (though whether it was at herself or him remained forever unclear) and began marching up the clean set of stairs.

“How old is this place?” Armin inquired, looking at the worn stonework.

“Mm…about twenty years or so?” She wrinkled her forehead as she thought. “It’s not actually as old as it looks; it’s just a design technique the man who built this place liked, I guess.”

“It’s a very nice place,” Armin offered peaceably.

She smiled, opening a door down the left hall. “It is indeed. Here’s your room, bathroom’s over there, and there’s a dresser and a closet and such in the corner. I supplied the sheets for you, since I didn’t want to come across as _totally_ heartless.”

Armin grinned at her. “This is lovely. Thank you so very much…?”

“Alice,” she announced, offering a hand for him to shake. Which he did, quite firmly. “I’m so pleased a young person’s here, to be honest.”

Armin nodded, uncertain as to what he should say in answer.

Fortunately, she took care of it for him. “Well, I best get back to my washing. It was lovely to meet you, Mr. Arlert!”

“Armin is much easier,” said individual interrupted. “Less…stiff, I mean.”

“Okay then.” She flashed another one of her big smiles. “Dinner’s at six, if you want any, since it’s your first night.”

After numerous repeated thank-yous and smiles, she ushered herself out and closed the door, and Armin was left in quiet.

A wave of exhaustion passed over him as he heard the soft _click_ of the latch, and instead of picking up his bags and beginning to unpack as he had planned, he went to his bed and collapsed on top of it. A deep breath escaped him and he curled up, intending to take just a few minutes rest.

Just a little while…

Armin was asleep in two minutes.

-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)


	2. This Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Armin nodded, excitement tingling in the tips of his fingers and the toes of his feet. There was nothing he loved better than exploring the rows of cars; some clean, some messy, and all with an individual story. Even if they were an identical make and model, he always felt like every automobile had its own special history. He didn’t feel like he was working with cold, unfeeling metal; he felt as if he was working with something real and tangible.
> 
> Something that remembered.

-=-=-=-=-

_“I felt as if I were walking with destiny, and that all my past life had been but a preparation for this hour and for this trial…I thought I knew a good deal about it all, I was sure I should not fail.”_

—  Winston S. Churchill

-=-=-=-=-

Despite his (unanticipated) afternoon nap, Armin was up early the next morning before having to get to work. He breakfasted with Alice and was introduced to her husband Joseph-a photographer with a closeted love of design. Armin listened over toast and eggs about how their building had been constructed, where some of the most beautiful structures in the city could be found, and how poorly the new colour scheme in most hotels were.

“They all want that red and gold stuff,” he sniffed, making the blonde man smile. “It’s just a fad.”

“I think it looks elegant,” his wife offered mildly.

“Still a fad. Isn’t that right?” He turned to Armin, face resolute.

Armin held up his hands. “I claim neutral territory in this discussion.”

 “How much do you claim you weigh?” Joseph wondered, changing the subject good naturedly. “You need some more meat on those bones.”

“I have no doubt I’ll achieve it with your wife’s splendid cooking,” Armin promised, and Joseph beamed.

-=-=-=-

Armin’s first trip on the subway was not a pleasant one. Similarly to the train, it was very noisy, and _unlike_ the train, extremely cramped. No one seemed to hold to any ideas of personal boundaries, and it had Armin nearly screaming in frustration by the time the doors finally- _Oh thank you God-_ opened. He practically ran down the sidewalk, aching to be able to breathe in some fresh air and have a few seconds of quiet.

He ran until he was out of breath, until he was pushing open the doors of his new business before he’d even realised it, and stood, panting, in the foyer.

The people sorting papers and organising meetings looked up and stared. He felt an uncomfortable flush creeping down his neck at his first impression; sweaty, unkempt and rumpled, as he came into this pristine place.

The PA at the front desk cleared her throat and he turned, hurrying towards her. Though with decidedly _less_ hurry than he had employed before.

“Do you have an appointment?” She inquired, blood red nails tapping the desk. They made a distracting _click-click-click_ noise and Armin had to struggle to think before answering, “I’m the new employee. Armin Arlert? I was scheduled to meet Mr. Smith.”

Papers shuffled as the woman sorted through them, light glinting off a golden nametag that read _Annie_ in black letters.

“Yes; you’re here,” she confirmed, looking back up to where he stood. Her pale blue eyes watching him made Armin feel like he was being assessed. Perhaps not in a good way.

“It’s room 207,” she informed, writing something down.

Armin nodded, grip tightening on his bag.

Annie didn’t even blink or turn her gaze towards him. “Do you need a map?”

He flushed. “No.”

“Then you’d best go before you’re late,” she instructed.

Armin turned away, trying to get his hair into some semblance of order as he walked towards the stairs. The unexpected prickling down his spine made him wonder if she was watching him again, and his stride quickened. He had no desire to be in the same room with the somewhat frightening PA any longer than he had to.

He tried not to get out of breath as he climbed the stairs, but despite his best efforts his legs ached with exertion and he knew his face was red as he stood outside the office door.

 _Calm down,_ he told himself, even as he felt his fingers twitch. _It’s not an interview; you’ve already been accepted. No need to panic._

Slender fingers wrapped around a brass door handle, hinges squeaking slightly as he walked inside.

Two seconds later he was nearly knocked over. An employee of some sort had been carrying a stack of boxes and, apparently, not seen him in their peripheral vision. They set them down carefully before whipping around and giving him a hand up.

“Sorry about that! I swear to God-this has never happened before.”

Armin stared up at the man as he stood carefully, eyes taking in a sincerely apologetic, (if somewhat cheeky) grin.

“Don’t worry about it,” he offered, then started as the stranger pumped his hand up and down in an exuberant handshake.

“Great! I’m Connie; I think I’m in the office across from yours! It’s wonderful to meet you; everyone’s been waiting!”

“How kind,” Armin managed faintly, once he had freed his arm from his new associate. “You’re Connie…?”

“Springer’s the handle, and you’re Armin Arlert, of course,” the young man smiled, letting his hands rest on hips which were clothed in a wrinkled white shirt. “Are you excited?”

Armin’s head felt like it was spinning. He could barely muster up a nod, which fortunately seemed to satisfy Connie, before a voice startled both of them.

“Springer! What have I told you about greeting people?”

The new speaker towered over both of them as he approached, clear blue eyes topped by impressive eyebrows. His voice was crisp without being condescending; Armin decided that as intimidating as he appeared, he liked the man. He felt an almost discernable air of _order_ wash around him at the way Connie almost stood to attention, picking up his boxes hastily. “Yes, sir! Sorry! I was just apologizing, sir!”

“Apologizing? What did you do?” The man took a step forward, and Armin could have sworn he heard Connie let out a nervous squeak.

“I just! Accidentally! Crashed into him!” His voice was high-pitched.

The man, obviously someone in charge, massaged the wrinkle between his eyebrows with a sigh. “Of course you did. Get back to work, Springer. And let’s have no more of traumatizing newcomers, hm?”

“Of course, naturally, I mean, yes sir-“ Connie floundered, before simply giving up and grabbing his cargo.

Despite his put-upon look, Armin detected a faint gleam of amusement in the taller man’s eyes, and his faint admiration deepened slightly.

“My name is Erwin Smith; I’m one of the managers of this company,” the gentleman introduced himself, offering a brief, two-pump business handshake. One that Armin’s sore arm greatly appreciated.

“I’m Armin Arlert, your new employee. Sir,” he added.

Erwin smiled briefly. “I’m glad you had a safe trip. Shall we make the tour?”

Armin nodded. “That sounds excellent.”

The actual office section was somewhat different than Armin had been expecting; there was wood and leather and clean, sharp lines cut into the patterns of walls. Most memorably was the Shinganshina logo; two wings intercrossed. One white, one black.

He saw Connie again as they passed by; he was furiously going at his typewriter, close-cropped hair looking slightly fuzzy. Despite how ridiculous the sight was, Armin couldn’t resist a small smile, especially when the guy looked up and flashed him a grin.

“This is your personal space,” his new boss announced, showing him a clean, polished wooden desk with a comfortable looking chair placed in front of it. There was a typewriter, a cup full of pens, paper in one of the cabinets, and space to set his briefcase.

“Although I realise your area of work will be much more hands-on than most of the employees here, I felt it only right that you should have somewhere to call just your own.”

Armin ran his hands down the smooth, varnished surface. Gratitude stirred in him as he set his bag down in the appropriate place, then straightened to look up at Mr. Erwin. “It’s splendid,” he answered quietly. “Thank you.”

The corners of Erwin’s face lifted in a kind smile. “Now that you’ve seen the office space, I suppose we should go down and look at the garages.”

Armin nodded, excitement tingling in the tips of his fingers and the toes of his feet. There was nothing he loved better than exploring the rows of cars; some clean, some messy, and all with an individual story. Even if they were an identical make and model, he always felt like every automobile had its own special history. He didn’t feel like he was working with cold, unfeeling metal; he felt as if he was working with something _real_ and tangible.

Something that remembered.

It was a longer walk down to where the cars were kept than he had been expecting, but it was worth it for Armin when he stood at the metal gate entering the yard and saw all that lay before him.

So many different models. Ford. Kurtz. Roamers. Even a few Dusenbergs. If Armin wasn’t aware that he was being watched, he might have skipped up and down in excitement.

“You are aware what your specific role here is, I assume?” The businessman’s voice cut through his thoughts, drawing him back into the present.

“Yes, sir,” he answered promptly, turning around. “I inspect each individual model and sort them into scrap, repair and showcase. I believe the contract also stipulated I’d have an assistant of some sort to help with the parts?”

“That’s correct; they arrive next Monday,” Erwin agreed. “I hope you’ll be able to manage for a few days, until then.”

Armin’s gaze again turned back towards the field of cars, his face breaking out in a smile that only the lifeless cars could view. “I think I’ll be just fine.”

“I realise that this is a large responsibility, especially for someone so young.” Erwin’s words were blunt. “However, all your previous employers have said that you demonstrate unequivocal competence in the workplace. I trust that the same adaptability will allow you to thrive here.”

Armin nodded, blonde hair brushing his cheeks. “I’ll do my very best, sir.”

“I wouldn’t ask for more.”

-=-=-=-=-

The rest of the day passed quickly, almost dreamlike. Armin settled into his workspace and had lunch at a glossy mahogany desk with his name on it. It didn’t feel like _home,_ but it felt like somewhere he could become accustomed to. A place that held no history for him; no regret; no sadness. It was peaceful in its freedom.

Over the course of the afternoon and the next day, he met almost everyone in the business. With some of them, (such as Connie) they immediately took to him and were both helpful and enthusiastic. Others, such as a tall, quiet man named Bertholdt, seemed more withdrawn and only spoke to him when it seemed necessary. Armin didn’t mind; to be honest, he rather wished he wasn’t receiving the amount of attention that he got over such a short period of time. He hated being made much of, and although he realised they were trying to make him feel welcome, he still felt awkward and unrelatable.

But those problems melted away when he worked on his beloved cars.

The thing that he perhaps enjoyed the most about them was that, despite the obvious fact that they couldn’t speak, they were always making noises. Low humming, loud, clanky noises, the thunderous rumble of a Ford starting up, or the quiet purr of a Buick being turned off.

Tuesday and Wednesday were spent filling out forms for faulty models, detailing the parts that were causing problems and available places for repair. He spent hours tirelessly working alone, hands covered in engine oil, face red and sweaty.

It was the happiest he’d ever been.

As he was stacking his papers on the top of his desk before going home on Thursday afternoon, he noticed that Erwin was watching him from where the water fountain stood. His gaze was clear, similar to Annie’s in the way that it was almost assessing, but not unkind. He smiled briefly at Armin’s tentative wave, and strode to where the blonde boy was packing up his briefcase.

“Forgive me for spying. I was actually just admiring your work ethic.”

Armin paused, looking up at him in some puzzlement. “What do you mean, sir?”

Erwin held up a stack of papers, and Armin recognized them as some of the reports he’d done earlier that week. “These are very thoroughly done. And all the repair places you recommended have been very reliable. And yet you specified on your application that this was your first time in New York.”

“That’s correct, sir.”

“So then, how did you know that the places you mentioned would be good?”

Armin swallowed a little nervously. “Actually, sir, the woman who’s allowing me to rent one of her rooms told me. She and her husband’s car is apparently faulty on several levels, and when I noticed how much trouble she was having asked her if she had any ideas.”

His fingers tapped on the handle of his briefcase nervously, wondering if it had been the wrong thing to do. He was surprised, and relieved, when there was a quiet chuckle of laughter.

“That’s excellent. Perhaps we should hire her, as well.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Armin’s own mouth. “Maybe, but I think she’s a bit too attached to her current work for us to convince her.”

“Mm. Perhaps. Well, regardless of the situation, I came over here to tell you to keep up the good work. I’m very impressed.”

Armin ducked his head, a pleased smile on his fair skinned face. “Thank you, sir.”

“Carry on.”

And just like that, his employer strode away.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)


	3. Drunk on Ideas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He moved towards where the lights were softer and the burnished glow of wood richer; until he found a velvet-covered stool and sat down. Carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for all the lovely feedback-nothing makes me happier and you are all splendid. From now on I will be tracking the tag fic:AEITS on Tumblr. :D

**-=-=-=-=-**

_And in the end, we were all just humans drunk on the idea that love, only love, could heal our brokenness._

-F. Scott Fitzgerald

-=-=-=-=-

The new employee met his first bump in the road on Friday. One of the records wasn’t coming through correctly and it could be extremely problematic if not recovered. It detailed a list of models that had proved faulty or had various issues in the past six months that needed to be recalled or remade, and it took them _all_ afternoon tirelessly sorting through papers, to find it. Armin’s relief was drowned out by his need to do something to relax. He hadn’t been out once since his arrival; not having really seen the need especially given that Alice’s cooking was excellent.

Besides, it wasn’t helping that Connie was practically _threatening_ him.

“You gotta get out of here, man!” He encouraged, perching on the edge of Armin’s chair like some sort of featherless bird.

The taller man rolled his eyes, glancing up at him through a haze of reports and folders. “What place is so spectacular that it can’t wait until some other time?”

“It’s _The Wall Maria,_ ” Connie explained excitedly. “They’re the best club in the city, I’m telling you.”

“Strange name,” the blonde boy commented, bending over to grab a stray paper.

Connie shrugged. “The owner’s wife was named Maria or something, and the joke was that she was built like a wall. She could take anything and never get drunk.”

“Does it have to be tonight?” Armin frowned, trying to give his signature to an automobile certificate and listen at the same time.

“Well, we usually go on Fridays. They’re closed on Sundays, of course. But if you want to go by yourself on Saturday and just see what it’s like, I’m not stopping you.”

“I’ll consider it,” Armin promised.

“Awesome!” Connie jumped up, nearly bowling over both Armin and his workload simultaneously.

“Could we not have a repeat of Monday?” Armin requested drily.

Connie scratched the back of his head. “Yeah…sorry about that.”

“If you take these to the mail room, I’ll call it even.”

“You got it!” Connie grinned.

Armin shook his head, wondering what he was getting himself into.

-=-=-=-=-

Late Saturday afternoon found Armin outside, dressed against the abnormal chill in a white button up and a smart blue jacket, signaling for a cab and shivering.

 _What am I getting myself into?_ He wondered for the dozenth time.

The cab that drew up was the same as any other, but it was the driver inside that felt familiar to Armin somehow, and he almost laughed when he recognised him as the grumpy cab driver from his first day.

“Are you sure you aren’t stalking me?” He inquired, handing him the slip of paper with the address that Connie had given to him.

The driver snorted. “I don’t give a shit how many times I end up at your door. The point is that I get paid.”

Armin blinked, somewhat surprised. Then again, it _was_ a New York cab driver. It wasn’t like they were known to be the friendliest of people.

The silence that settled over them both felt strangely awkward, so the blonde boy cleared his throat. “I’m Armin.”

“That’s great, kid.”

“Um, shouldn’t you tell me your name, too?”

Dark hair flicked away from a pale face, almond-shaped eyes narrowing in the strip of mirror. “Why?”

“Because it’s polite.”

The cabbie barked out a harsh laugh. “This is New York, kid. People aren’t just randomly polite.”

“Well…” Armin struggled to find something to say, scrabbling at a new remark. “Where are you from?”

The driver gave a sigh, and at first Armin wondered if he would reply at all. But after a pause, he spoke in a slightly lower tone. “I’m from Boston.”

“Wow.” Armin suppressed a grin. It hardly surprised him. “What brought you down to here?”

“A job,” the man answered simply.

“Me, too.”

“Levi.”

“What?”

“My name,” the cabbie answered, rolling his eyes. “It’s Levi.”

Armin’s face broke into a grin. “That’s a brilliant name.”

“Yeah, yeah.” But the cabbie didn’t sound offended.

“I’ve never been to the place I’m going to now before,” Armin rambled on, not entirely sure what was prompting the outburst of information.

“I’ve been there once or twice.”

“Is it nice?” Bright blue eyes blinked at his own reflection as Armin looked out the window.

“Nothing wrong with it,” Levi shrugged. “But I don’t really drink. Or at least, not alcohol.”

“Oh? What do you drink, then?”

“Jesus, you ask a lot of questions,” the dark-haired man huffed.

“You don’t seem to mind,” Armin fired back.

Another snort of laughter. “I like black tea. Any tea, actually, but especially that one.”

“I like coffee.”

“Everyone likes fucking coffee.”

Armin flushed. “You swear a lot.”

“Aw, is little Jimmy Innocent getting uncomfortable?”

Armin was silent for a moment, blinking, then let out a laugh.

“What’s so funny?” The cabbie inquired irritably.

“You’re a pretty weird cabbie.”

“You’re a pretty weird passenger.”

“Hey, I was just making conversation.”

“Exactly.” The cab pulled up short, engine rumbling faintly. “We’re here.”

Armin moved back to the window, gazing up at the old-looking structure that made up the club. Levi’s words were indeed proven to be true as the white lettered sign by the roof read _Wall Maria_ for all the world to see.

“It’s beautiful!” Armin exclaimed, unable to help himself. Because it was. The metal terrace on the second floor was made up of gracefully angled iron, roses tumbled down the old brick and intertwined with ivy that had slowly crept upwards.

Levi however merely rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. “Yes, it’s a fucking masterpiece. You going to pay or what?”

Armin huffed slightly, digging in his wallet for the appropriate sum of cash. “You really should work on your manners.”

The cabbie smirked. “This is the part where you get _out_ of the cab and _inside_ the building and I go to pick up more passengers.”

“Right. Thanks.” Armin climbed out obediently, shutting the door. He turned before going inside, and tossed one parting remark over his shoulder.

“You’re still a greedy dirtbag.”

“Don’t make me blush.”

Armin could hear the smugness in the short man’s voice as he walked towards the doors, and he let out a slight smile as he pushed them open.

Six O’clock shadows danced across the walls in the shadows of intricate metalwork, glinting off of crystal glasses and polished wooden stools. A jazz band was practicing in a corner, and people were just beginning to drift inside for an evening out.

The whole place felt strangely blurred, almost dreamlike, as Armin moved slowly through. The beginning strains of a soft melody were drifting through the room; the tinkle of a piano’s soft chords combined with deep bass strings. It sounded rough and on-the-spot and _wonderful_.

Upstairs was the terrace, which Armin was frankly desperate to see, but he couldn’t help but feel that a drink was in order first. The bar area was straight ahead, being manned by several figures and surrounded by customers. None of them stood particularly close to the drinking area, however, so perhaps he’d be able to squeeze in a spot.

He moved towards where the lights were softer and the burnished glow of wood richer; until he found a velvet-covered stool and sat down. Carefully.

Wide blue eyes pulled in the scene; devoured it; digested it. Every woman in the room laughing, every shimmering facet of the jewels they wore. The faint scent of cigar smoke and cologne (and a deep, musky smell from bodies being pressed together that made his ears go red).

“It’s beautiful,” he breathed, fingers twitching as the raucous sound of a trumpet bloomed into life somewhere close by.

“Ain’t it?”

He started violently at the voice, hair whipping into his face as he turned.

_But you’re the most goddamned beautiful thing in the entire world._

Words failed him for a minute, mind stuttering to a halt as he stared, six inches away from the brightest pair of green eyes he’d ever seen. His dark hair was a mess, like he’d been running his fingers through it all day, and his skin was tanned from obvious labour in the sun. 

_Oh._

“What can I get for you?” The tiniest hint of a Brooklyn accent peeking out from the shape of his syllables.

Armin’s eyes flicked up to the handwritten section of daily drinks. “What’s the best?” He inquired, hoping his voice didn’t crack.

The boy turned, giving Armin a view of well-defined shoulders underneath his white shirt. “The gin and tonics are really good,” he offered thoughtfully, wiping a crystal glass dry. “But my personal favourite is the mint julep.”

“Could I have one of those?”

The beautiful boy smiled, setting the newly cleaned glass down and moving around the bar area. “Sure thing.”

Armin sat very still, trying to think of something to say. Anything to say, honestly.

Fortunately, the stranger got there first. “I’m guessing you aren’t from here.”

Slender fingers tapped the polished wood, making a soft noise that he couldn’t quite put a name to. “I’m from Michigan; I came here for my grandfather’s business.”

“What kind of work do you do?” The boy inquired, perfectly at ease as he measured out varying amounts of liquid.

Armin’s high-strung nerves relaxed somewhat. “I work with automobiles.”

Strong arms moved under the dim lighting as the barkeep set down a tall glass of something that fizzled. Armin’s face ignited as his hands closed over the boy’s in order to take his drink. The stranger gave him another full grin, seemingly unperturbed. “Why automobiles?”

“I love them,” Armin answered honestly, taking a sip of his drink. It really _was_ fantastic. He just hoped it wasn’t too alcoholic. “They’re amazing.”

“Amazing, huh?” The boy had an odd look on his face, as if he was thinking about something. But it disappeared under his normal cheerful smile a moment later.

Armin nodded, out of words to say. His entire face felt like it _must_ be burning; gaze dropping whenever the boy’s eyes found his own.

 _Beautiful_.

The boy looked like he was going to speak again, but a lady and her dance partner had come up to the drinks area and were requesting service. The woman was all laughter and smiles; faint scent from a floral perfume wafting off of her. Her partner looked a few years older, pulling out a stool for her to sit in, which she declined.

“Just a quick drink!” She promised, flush high on her cheeks. “Then I want to keep dancing. The band’s starting soon.”

“What can I get for you?” The boy inquired, seamlessly interrupting their conversation.

The lady ordered one of the famous gin and tonics. Her partner drank some sort of brandy from a smaller glass and laughed with her over something that Armin could not make out. Not that it really mattered to him; his eyes were fixed as often as subtly possible on the boy mixing their drinks, brows furrowed in concentration as he worked. When his hand reached up to brush a stray strand of hair out of his eyes Armin watched, riveted. Such a simple motion. He was in too deep to even feel embarrassed.

His gaze drifted back to the man and woman having their drinks; the gentleman finished his brandy in one gulp while the woman took several dainty sips before declaring she was finished. He watched them both straighten and head back to the dance floor, faces aglow with contentment.

“You haven’t drunk much of your drink,” he turned back to find the barkeep looking at him quizzically. “Is it not good?”

“No!” Armin’s voice was much too high-pitched for his satisfaction, and he ignored the stranger’s amused look in lieu of clearing his throat. A tanned hand picked up his glass and Armin watched, helpless, as the boy took a sip. He smacked his lips as he set it down, carefully, and winked. “I’d say it tastes even better than usual.”

 “It’s wonderful,” Armin got out, praying that his ears weren’t as red as he suspected they were. “I’m just preoccupied, I guess.”

“Work stuff?” the boy guessed, already moving back into action as he wiped down the bar with a slightly raggedy cloth.

Armin almost laughed. _I’d say I was drunk if the full glass wasn’t sitting in front of me._

“Something like that,” he agreed instead, smiling softly.

The boy smiled and wrung his cloth out to dry. “What’s your name?”

“It’s Armin. Armin Arlert.”

“Sounds kind of fancy,” the boy commented.

Armin took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “My mother was French, and she told my dad that she wouldn’t take any other name for me.”

The boy paused in his work, looking interested. “What did your dad want to call you?”

The corner of Armin’s mouth twitched. “Donald.”

“Oh, jeez.” The boy laughed; clear and open. Armin’s fingers tightened around his drink. “I think you should be grateful.”

“I am, trust me, but it’s murder when I have to say it over the phone.” Armin felt giddy; on the verge of laughter himself. “They either spell it with too many vowels or ask me to say it twenty times.”

“I think they’d be happy getting to say it so many times,” the boy mused, wiping his hands dry.

Armin was silent for a moment, wondering what he meant. When it dawned on him his face went red. “Oh.”

“Do you speak any French?”

Armin nodded, smiling shyly.

“Well go on then,” the boy prompted, clearly not taking No for an answer.

Armin looked at his reflection in the glass, then spoke softly. _“Je ne suis pas ivre, mais je suis certainement enivré par vous.”_

The boy blinked. “I have no idea what that means, but it’s real pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Eren!” The screeching voice cut through Armin’s quieted mind like a knife. The dark-haired boy glanced around to the source of the noise, confused.

“It’s almost Seven!” A beautiful girl with shoulder-length blonde hair and light blue eyes gestured to the dancefloor excitedly. “Get a wiggle on!”

“Yeah, yeah. You and your lingo.” Eren rolled his eyes, looking at Armin as if they were sharing a private joke. Armin smiled faintly in return.

“Who’s this?” The blonde girl took a step closer, the single jewelled pin in her hair sparkling against the light. Her face was friendly, but her voice held a faint note of sharpness as she looked to Eren.

He held up his hands. “He was thirsty.”

“He’s barely drunk his drink,” she observed.

Armin had had enough. “You know I can hear you, right?”

She waved an airy hand. “Sorry, hon. Just needed to clear something up with Eren here.”

“This is Armin,” the dark-haired barkeep announced, gesturing to him. He said the name like he was tasting it; letting it rest in his mouth before letting the syllables go to the wind.

She offered a hand for him to shake. “Well aren’t you just the cutest thing?”

Despite his slight embarrassment, Armin smiled. “And you are…?”

“Petra,” she said blithely, dropping her hand and doing an odd sort of curtsy that was somehow both ridiculous and charming. “I work here sort of part-time on my evenings.”

“Oh?”

“She’s a teacher during the day,” Eren announced, the pride audible in his voice.

She shrugged, looking pleased at his praise. “I help out some.”

“She’s the best English teacher they’ve ever had and nothing will convince me otherwise.”

She gave his arm a light smack. “Oh, hush.”

He grinned. “Anyway. Right. I better run.”

“Leaving?” Armin inquired, finally downing the last of his drink. Definitely more alcoholic than not.

“Oh, no.” His eyes found Armin’s again and he flashed him one of those full grins.

“Hurry up!” Petra pushed at him until Eren started moving away. “Have fun!”

He waved at her as he hurried off, adjusting the collar of his shirt.

Petra’s face held a fond smile as she watched him disappear. Then she turned back to Armin, still perched on his chair, and tossed him a smile. “I gotta get back to work, but I’ll see you around, huh?”

He nodded, wanting badly to ask _where_ exactly Eren had run off to in such haste.

“It was swell meeting you!” She called, moving off towards a new group of people had come into the club.

And Armin was left alone.

His hands were still tingling as he held his glass, curiosity and excitement pulling him with an almost magnetic force up from his seat. Away from the bar area, away from the _silence._ The raucous sounds of a jazz band starting up were trickling through every corner of the room, loud and unapologetic and oh so alive.

_Oh, love me or leave me,_

_Let me be lonely,_

_You won’t believe me-_

_But I love you only._

Armin’s feet took him to the sitting area that encircled a wide dancefloor, in front of the jazz band and behind the where the majority of the crowd stood.

“A seat, sir?” The low voice broke his trance, the young woman standing next to him.

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” he answered noting the large tray of drinks she had.

The girl smiled, beckoning him with a hand. “Come on. We’ll get you situated.”

He followed her through little clusters of people, watching her expertly handle the tray without letting the drinks so much as slide.

“Here you are!” She said brightly, pulling out a chair of that same intricate metalwork that the terrace upstairs was made.

“You’re too kind,” Armin replied, taking the offered seat.

She waved a hand. “You have a nice time, now. The dancin’s pretty fine. ‘Specially one of the dancers, if you know what I mean,” she winked.

Armin had no idea what she meant, but he wasn’t about to let that on. So he smiled at her and pulled in his chair, turning towards the open area. The same song from before was playing again, but this time with certainty; not a mistake made; not the single sound of a wrongly tuned instrument.

The lights dimmed slightly, excited titters going through the little audience that had gathered.

Someone exited from a side door, onto the dance floor, dark hair glinting under the light.

_There’ll be no one unless that someone is you,_

_I intend to be independently blue._

It was the beautiful barkeep; hair in an attractive mess, white shirt standing out against the golden tan of his skin. Armin could feel his pulse stuttering, trying to find some semblance of order against the chemicals flooding his brain.

A girl was coming up from the audience, obviously aware of what was going on. Her brown hair spilled down her back in natural ringlets, peach-coloured dress flowing down her curves like water.

The boy- _No, he had a name-_ Eren, took her hand, his face split into a wide grin. Her cheeks went pink as the jazz band plunged into a new song, all jaunty rhythms and impulsive beat.

The girl’s dress clashed with the brightness of Eren’s eyes, her movements were far clumsier than his and she giggled too often, but Armin didn’t care. He sat, motionless, eyes drinking in the pure liquid grace Eren kept as he moved across the floor, making up for when his partner lost time, always ready to step forward if she pulled back, offering a smile when she looked discouraged.

Audience members were laughing, not with spite but with pleasure; it was as if everyone was somehow visibly relaxed by it. His movements were precise; controlled, simultaneously open and impulsive. He gave and took everything; he _threw_ himself into it. He was as lost as a child in a vast open plain, but it was obvious that it overjoyed him. He was never so enraptured as when he was completely gone.

Armin felt almost faint.

It felt like hours, sitting there, watching the two of them moving together as songs seamlessly moved into one another. Time was both slowed and sped up, he was shamelessly enthralled. He hoped no one could see his face for if they did, he was certain that the look of damning adoration splayed across his features would have him in prison by nightfall.

He had to remember to clap when the final song actually came to a close, remind himself to wipe away the look of stupor and replace it with one of focus. Such thoughts had no place in such a quietly dangerous venue.

The girl went back to her seat in the audience, and for one mad moment Armin wished that Eren would call someone else up. Call _him_ up.

He remembered with a wave of bitterness that that could never happen. Those kind of things didn’t get to happen to people like him.

No one was queer; no one talked about it. Armin had no right to even feel the way he did, or feel jealous of a girl he’d never even met. But damn him if that stopped the feeling from happening anyway.

His heart skidded to a halt when in his sweeping gaze over the audience Eren’s eyes found him. They remained fixed on him for far longer than was appropriate, and he didn’t smile. He just looked.

Armin felt taken apart.

A sense of panic suddenly washed over him, confusion mixed with a strange lurching in his chest had him standing rapidly. Eren’s eyes narrowed in confusion, but he said nothing and made no move towards him.

All Armin knew his brain was trying to tell him was that he needed to _go._ He needed to get his brain back online, and it wasn’t happening here. Or probably not anywhere near here for a long time.

He didn’t turn around as another song started up, or to see if Eren was still watching.

He _fled._

There were few people out on the darkening streets, but somehow the city still seemed to be thrumming with that endless feeling of people being awake, of activity going on where it could not be seen.

Armin had no trouble hailing a cab and getting on his way home. He really had stayed so much later than he had intended.  He had been at that club for almost _two hours._

The building was quiet as he walked up the stone steps, key put in its usual spot. Armin let himself in and slipped up the other set of stairs, heading to his bedroom. The single lamp was still on in his room.

Its gentle light relaxed him somewhat as he changed clothes and prepared for bed. His head ached but his mind was buzzing with newfound thoughts and wonder. Most of them ones he didn’t want to be having.

_Just forget about it. Go to sleep and get some rest. You did what Connie asked and now it’s over._

But he fell asleep to the thought of moving across a dance floor, staring into the brightest green eyes.

-=-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)


	4. Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew better, and he knew that he knew better. With the same certainty that he was going to go back, because it felt like nothing less than a magnetic force was drawing him back. The whole time of his first visit had felt like a dream, looked like a vision. He couldn’t have stayed away if he wanted to. It hurt, in some ways, to not feel like he had that free choice.

 

_-=-=-=-=_

_"Et peut-être vous êtes mon oxygène, pour jusqu'à ce que je te vois, je ne peux pas respirer ."_

(And perhaps you are my oxygen, for until I see you, I cannot breathe.)

-TouchedbytheAngel.tumblr.com

-=-=-=-=-=-

Monday morning brought around the same grind as before. Armin had breakfast with Alice and Joseph, gathered up his bag and headed out the door.

Shinganshina was humming with activity as he went in the door. Annie gave him a cool glance from her desk which he hastened to get from under. The elevator ride was a quiet one, Armin’s fingers tight around his bag and his blue eyes as wide as they were on the day they first took in his surroundings.

Someone was at his desk as he made his way down the line, fingers picking at the button of his suit jacket. Armin managed a friendly smile but paused in vague confusion before speaking.

_What’s with his hair?_

His inquiry wasn’t an idle one. His (presumably) new assistant’s mop of hair was a strange mix of two very different colours. The top was an ashy blonde, while the undercut was very definitely dark brown.

_You’re still staring. Say something, for God’s sake!_

Startling himself out of his observation, Armin set down his bag and reached out a hand for the stranger to shake. “Welcome to Shinganshina,” he offered in a tone that he hoped was warm. “Are you Jean?”

The taller man nodded, obviously pleased at being recognized. He shook Armin’s hand warmly, then dropped his own and straightened his back. “Jean Kirschtein.”

Armin smiled again. “I’m so glad you got here safely. This is my little work space, but I do a lot of my work hands-on. I hope that won’t be a problem,” he added anxiously, aware in some part of his mind that he sounded vaguely like a puppy.

Jean seemed unfazed, waving a hand. “If you wanna work hands-on with your assistant, I don’t have a problem with it. As long as my salary’s unchanged,” he added, flashing a grin.

Armin offered a small grin in return, mind ripping back unwillingly to another huge grin, plastered on another honest face.

“Then let’s see how many cars we can get fixed up before lunch.”

-=-=-=-

It turned out that with Jean’s help, Armin could do quite a lot.

For one thing, his assistant wasn’t as intimately detailed with _every_ car as Armin unashamedly was. Jean was a practical sort of fellow, hard-working but perhaps lacking in overall motivation. He also had a tendency to just spit out what he was thinking, which occasionally resulted in friction between him and his fellow employees.

It never happened with Armin, however. Perhaps it was his natural tendency to diffuse contention, or maybe he and Jean related to each other well. Either way, they got along famously when it came to working with each car.

Jean wouldn’t stop making fun of him in a good-natured way about his devotion to the vehicles.

“If you spend so much time on each one, how will you have time for the others?” He asked one day, emerging from his fifth vehicle laden with grease to find Armin still working on his first.

The blonde boy looked up, a small smile gracing his lips as he gave a little shrug. “They’re all so different, Jean. You have to pay attention to them according to what they are, not just by what’s wrong with them.”

“You’re very philosophical for a glorified mechanic,” Jean observed, wiping sweat from his forehead. His strange hair was stuck in clumps on his head, giving him the appearance of a slightly crazed scientist. Armin thought vaguely that all he needed were some goggles.

“Maybe,” was the simple reply. “But I don’t hear anyone complaining after they get their cars back.”

Jean grunted, though whether in agreement or just acknowledgment remained unclear.

“Say, do you treat your girlfriend with as much devotion as you do your cars?” Jean inquired, grinning.

Armin’s ears went red. “I don’t have a girlfriend,” he mumbled.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Face like yours?”

Armin rolled his eyes. “Perhaps this hasn’t occurred to you, but looks aren’t everything.”

“But they sure do help.”

“Fine, then.” Armin pulled himself out from under the car, using a rag to wipe his hands as he faced the taller man. “What about you?”

“What about me?” Jean asked, oddly fast.

“Your girlfriend,” Armin clarified. “Does she like what you do?”

Jean’s face went a little pale, then a little red. He scratched the back of his neck with one hand and made some sort of wordless grunt.

Armin gave a soft gasp. “What’s this?! The all-knowing Jean Kirschtein _doesn’t have a girl?_ ”

“Aw, shut up,” now it was Jean’s turn to mutter. “I don’t have time for that stuff.”

“Maybe your hair just scared them away.”

“Hey!”

Armin grinned, hands resting on his hips as he inspected his finished work. One clean and working car, ready to go.

“Fine. Call it a truce,” Jean suggested. “I’m starving. Can we have lunch now?”

“It’s just after noon,” Armin noted, looking at his watch.

“And I’m _hungry,_ ” Jean whined.

Armin rolled his eyes. “You’re as bad as Connie. I think you’ll be good friends.”

Jean scoffed. “Very likely. His tongue’s sharper than his mind, that’s for sure.”

Armin smiled. “Like I said: You guys will be good friends.”

-=-=-=-=-

The week went by as quickly as the first, in a buzz of hard work and constant (if enjoyable) dedication. Armin found himself anticipating the weekend for a number of reasons, the firstly being rest.

…The second being Eren.

He _knew_ better, and he knew that he knew better. With the same certainty that he was going to go back, because it felt like nothing less than a magnetic force was drawing him back. The whole time of his first visit had felt like a dream, looked like a vision. He couldn’t have stayed away if he wanted to. It hurt, in some ways, to not feel like he had that free choice.

But _oh,_ how his stomach tingled just thinking of going back. Of just catching a glimpse of the beautiful boy that was already leading him to sin.

It was a pointless endeavour, and perhaps that was something he knew somewhere, too. He knew he’d seen Eren dancing with what was undoubtedly his girlfriend, in a crowd of people at the centre of attention.

Armin wasn’t asking for the chance to know him, just a chance to _see_ him.

It was with this thought that he consoled himself as he stepped into a taxi around 5:30 on Thursday evening. As the sun sank behind the horizon like a graceful woman, closing out another spring day.

Armin was surprised to find himself mildly disappointed that it wasn’t Levi who took him to the club. The grumpy little man probably had better things to do, or other people to take, but he had been privately wondering if it would happen again.

He wasn’t served by Eren again, and he sat in a different part of the room than he did the first time. As a matter of fact, he didn’t see Eren _at all_ for the first half hour or so, as he sat nervously sipping a glass of light brandy. He didn’t even _like_ drinking except on occasion, unlike Connie, who for some reason glorified in his tales of illicit intoxication.

Maybe it had to do with Connie’s whole thought process. Or lack thereof.

He did see one or two people that he recognised, however. Petra was there, flitting amongst the guests like a light-footed deer. Her soft hair was pinned up tonight, keeping her face free as she bent to serve drinks and take orders from various, thirsty dancers.

The floor was quieter than it had been the first time, but Armin didn’t think that it was for lack of trying. There seemed to be an air of something like expectation amongst everyone, and the fair-skinned boy found himself unwittingly caught up in it as it drew closer to Seven.

His breath caught in a weak hitch as sure enough, a tanned figure exited from the side and approached the stage. His eyes swept along the audience, and Armin’s cheeks caught fire when they connected with his. There was a beat of stillness for half a second.

Then the boy smiled.

Armin was so flustered that for a few seconds he couldn’t even react beyond opening and closing his mouth awkwardly. His mouth didn’t seem to want to be controlled, and only clamped up more when the boy turned away, looking like he was laughing.

Brilliant. Way to make a good impression.

His head tilted in confusion as this time it was a different girl who came up to dance; this one had short blonde hair and pale blue eyes instead of the red-lipped brunette he had seen before.

The music tonight was slower, more thoughtful. It stood starkly against the jazzy beat from the week before in Armin’s memory, but it was no less of a beautiful performance that Eren gave, regardless.

Armin found that he couldn’t even tear his eyes away.

Eren noticed eventually, of course. He probably also saw the way Armin’s face ignited when he caught the boy staring, green eyes fixed on him as if he were the most important thing in the room.

And for a while…Armin could have believed he was.

A sweet mixture of hope and fear swirled in his chest, combined with his drink, helped his mind to quiet somewhat as the time wore on. It would surprise him to learn later that he had been at the club for almost two hours without realising it had been more than half that time.

Eren was treated with his normal enthusiasm when his time concluded; polite applause and excited expressions. He went off the stage like a performer being begged for an encore; his face flushed with pleasure at their praise.

Armin didn’t see him again. Not even after he’d craned his neck sore looking around, or even when two pretty girls had asked him if he’d like to dance.

“I don’t know how to,” he’d said, both times.

_But I wish I did._

He’d planned to leave sometime around eight-thirty, feeling like a guest who’d overstayed their welcome. He hadn’t drunk anything, hadn’t danced, had barely even talked. He might as well have just told everyone he was looking for a place to sit down and take up space.

Clearly, however, the universe had other plans.

A glass of something was slapped down at a table as someone took a seat, the owner of the concoction smelling like sweat and exuberance.

 _It’s funny, saying one can smell exuberance,_ Armin observed idly, almost afraid to turn around. The prickles on the back of his neck were making him almost desperately hopeful, desperately curious.

And so, like a child opens the door of an empty closet, he turned around.

“You’re having fun,” Eren commented, slinging back at least a third of his drink.

Armin wrinkled his nose, wondering if even from that distance he could hear the pounding of his heart. “You’re much better off with water, you know.”

“What are you-my doctor? I work in a _club,_ for God’s sake.” Eren tipped his glass, swirling the honey-coloured beverage around.

“You don’t seem to be working,” Armin observed.

“You didn’t see me working it up on that stage?” He grinned, open face resting on one hand.

Blue eyes rolled so hard Armin was surprised they didn’t just come out of their sockets. “That’s different.”

“Why weren’t you dancing? Can’t be for lack of asking, surely.”

Armin folded his arms, glancing up at the dimly-lit stage and the jazz band packing up. “I don’t know how.”

“How can you _not_ know how?”

“Um. No one taught me?”

“But it’s the easiest thing ever!” Eren protested, wiping a lock of hair off his face that was falling into his eyes.

“You only say that because it looks as natural as breathing when you’re doing it,” Armin muttered, hoping his face didn’t look like it was about to explode.

“Breathing’s a good metaphor, actually. See, when you aren’t thinking about it, it just…happens. But when you think about it…” Eren paused, pulling in a deep lungful. “It starts to feel strange.”

“Nice metaphor.”

“Thank you.”

Armin clasped his hands over his knees, watching him quietly. “Go easy on the drinking.”

Eren smiled at him, taking a slower sip. When he set his glass down, his tone was curious. “Are you in need of learning how to breathe, Mr. Arlert?”

Armin opened and closed his mouth, panic washing over him. _He knows he knows he knows._ His mouth went dry as dust, throat closing off as he strove to keep his maddening heartrate steady. “Ah…I…”

Eren interrupted suddenly. “You’re a little different, aren’t you?”

More alarm bells, sweat was collecting in the hollow of Armin’s hands; behind his shoulder blades. “D-different?”

Eren nodded, his face abruptly splitting into a grin. “You clearly haven’t tried our fruitcake yet.”

_“What?”_

Eren hopped out of his seat, excitement shining in his bright green eyes. “I’ll be right back. Don’t leave!”

Armin watched him go, a sceptical eyebrow raised. He wasn’t feeling particularly hungry, but it felt rude to refuse his offer when he’d been so kind…and besides, Eren was long gone. He doubted he’d allow him to refuse, even if he wanted to.

He turned his eyes to where a few people were still milling around; sipping drinks, and enjoying each other’s company. Music was still playing, but this time from a record player rather than the live band from before. Armin felt himself feeling more relaxed as he listened, rabbit-quick pulse slowing to something more human in the wake of Eren’s absence.

It wasn’t long, however, before a porcelain plate was being set down in front of him, accompanied by a fork. Eren sat down again, green eyes bright with interest as he pushed it forward, looking up at Armin. “You have to at least try it.”

“Fruitcake was never exactly up my alley,” Armin commented, nevertheless taking a delicate forkful and chewing thoughtfully.

“Everybody around says it’s the best,” Eren replied, tone coolly confident. “I just hope you don’t get tipsy easily.”

Armin gave him a pointed look. “Does _everything_ here have to contain alcohol?”

“No, but what would be the fun otherwise?”  

“I don’t know how _fun_ you consider a properly working liver, but…” Armin left off, letting the disapproving arch of his eyebrows speak for him.

Eren shrugged, breaking off a tiny corner of the piece of cake and popping it into his mouth with maddening casualness. “My ma always told me I was a sucker for taking risks. I guess this is just following along.”

Armin blinked at him, fork digging into the cake again as he considered. “I suppose that says something about you.”

“Huh?” Eren gave him a lopsided grin. “What?”

“You should think more before jumping into things,” Armin answered, aware of the veiled bitterness in his tone, but not caring. “It isn’t good to be rash.”

Eren didn’t speak for a moment, and when he did, it was quiet. “Do you want to come back here on Sunday?”

Armin’s heart sped up faster than the revving of a car engine, looking at his companion sharply. “The night club is closed then.”

The jocular tone was gone from Eren’s voice as he nodded. “I know.”

Armin’s ears _burned,_ a flash of cold washing over him like water before being overshadowed by heat. “That’s…you know I can’t.”

Eren tilted his head to one side, seemingly confused. “Why? It ain’t like we’re doing anything wrong. You don’t know how to dance, so I’m volunteering to teach you.”

Armin swallowed, a horde of conflicting emotions swimming in his gut. “But if someone sees…they might not know that.”

“Trust me, Armin.” Eren’s tone once again held that cool confidence that made Armin feel both worried and oddly consoled. “Nobody wants to be around this place on Sunday. You’re afraid of lookin’ bad? Think of how they’d look if someone caught them hanging around this place.”

Armin sighed, fingers twisting with each other in his lap as he stared at the floor. “Alright.” His voice was barely over a whisper.

Eren bent forward, smile spreading over his face. “What was that?”

“Alright!” Armin’s tone was slightly sharp, glancing back up at the taller boy with something resembling a glare. “I’ll…I’ll come.”

Eren beamed, standing up abruptly and shoving his hands in his pockets. “Copacetic. Come at Three.”

Armin swallowed, nodding again as he tried to fight off every voice in his head screaming out _he knows, he knows, he knows._

“I gotta get back to work now, or Petra’ll yell at me,” Eren informed him, picking up Armin’s now-empty plate in one of his tanned hands. “It sure was swell seeing you here again, Armin.”

The blonde boy smiled, offering a clumsy wave as Eren strode away towards the back, taking a few deep breaths before standing up himself, and heading towards the exit.

Far above him, grey clouds obscured the slight light of an otherwise full moon, as thunder rumbled in the distance, low and threatening.

-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I considered naming this chapter, ‘In Which Armin is Thirsty Af, but Not for Booze.’
> 
> Nothing like guys being bros, amirite?
> 
> I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)


	5. Expression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eren showed him the dance floor like it was a kingdom; and he was the ruler. His feet were certain, never wavering, whereas Armin was faltering and blushy. Eventually, he chose to stop using words in favour of actions; telling him it was alright in the way he held Armin’s little hand like it was a bird. With the way in which his thumb brushed little circular patterns over the shorter boy’s hip. How he watched Armin’s face like he was drunk on it; like he could never have enough.

_-=-=-=-=-_

_“The days passed in a dream. I pictured our reunion again and again, played it out in my mind over and over until I’d almost worn a groove in my thoughts, so deep that it seemed the only thing I could think of was our reunion. Anticipation is a gift. Perhaps there is none greater. Anticipation is born of hope. Indeed it is hope’s finest expression. In hope’s loss, however, is the greatest despair.”  
― _ Steven L. Peck _, A Short Stay in Hell_

-=-=-=-=

There was something about cars, Armin had decided a long time ago, that gave the illusion of power. Power, perhaps, or the lack thereof. If you owned a nice car, you somehow automatically received the title of a nice person. Even with how fault, and stubborn, and vaguely _human_ cars could be, people regarded them oftentimes as objects more precious than even their families, or their jobs, and certainly their bank accounts.

On the flipside, to _not_ have a car seemed one of the most commonplace travesties available for thought. If one didn’t have a car, then they didn’t have anything worth having, and those were the facts. Taking things like buses or (God forbid) a cab were inglorious, secret pursuits that millions of people took upon themselves to perform every day, but somehow never wanted to talk about. Like getting found out about cheating on your wife, the absence of a car in your life was a terrible thing that would automatically earn you a place in people’s minds with The Things Not Suitable for Conversation.

All these things Armin considered to himself as he worked underneath hundreds of cars, faceless in his memory as the people who owned them, yet somehow retaining a small, detailed spot in his memory. The type of car; the problem associated with it. Sometimes the cost of whatever it took to mend it.

“Maybe I’m exaggerating,” he told Jean, as they sat eating sandwiches on Friday afternoon, “but I think that people worship cars more often than God.”

Jean gave a slight shrug, seemingly unbothered by the idea of the impending degradation of a God he had been told existed since birth. “Just means more work for us, right?”

Armin took a bite of his sandwich, reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from the afternoon sun reflecting off of cars from the back of his neck. “I guess. They’re new and interesting, and the idea of God is rather old and increasingly questionable.”

“Well, if your car breaks down in the middle of the road, you don’t get caught in a religious conundrum,” Jean expressed eloquently. “It’s broken, no question about it. But if you’re about to commit robbery in order to feed your starving children, you kinda wonder what kind of exceptions God would allow for that.”

Armin smiled, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

Jean gave him one of his lopsided grins, finishing his sandwich with the same relish upon which he had started it. “I have to ask, what the hell did you go into the automotive business for? You should be…I don’t know, going to college and learning how to be a stoic old professor and inspire the world.”

Armin raised an eyebrow, looking up at a patch of clouds as he thought. “I would have liked to,” he answered finally. “But the reason why I’m here in the first place is for my grandfather.”

“What about him?”

“He’s getting old,” Armin said softly, “and his health isn’t very good. Long and short of it is that he ran out of money, and it’s not like people are in the business of hiring eighty year old men with joint aches these days.”

“So, what?” Jean inquired, tone obliviously callous. “You took over the old geezer’s profession or something to help pay the doctor’s bills?”

“I got an offer from here, to work. Erwin heard about me, and he’d known my grandfather way back when, apparently. So I guess he gave me the job out of pity.”

“Nah.” Jean shook his head. “Erwin? He doesn’t hire people because he feels bad for them; he does it because he thinks they know what they’re doing. Do you think he let a dewdropper like me come because of my sunny disposition?”

Armin grinned, tucking his brown paper bag back into his bag. “Fair point.”

“Erwin’s smart, and anyone can see that you like what you do. Despite your obvious calling to don the stately robes of a teacher. He’d have been stupid not to hire you.”

Armin didn’t reply, but his cheeks went a little pink at the praise, and he looked at the row of cars waiting to be fixed with more fondness than he had previously.

It was times like this, peaceful moments on sunny afternoons, where he truly felt at ease.

-=-=-=-

It was later that afternoon when any peace in the atmosphere was wiped out with a divinely orchestrated rag. The man standing outside the fenced automobile yard was very red-faced, and obviously quite angry. He kept waving his arms and shouting, until Armin finally moved out from underneath the car he was currently working on, and went towards him. Jean had gone inside some time ago to file all the paperwork for the vehicles they had collaboratively fixed that week, and so it was quite alone that Armin greeted the irate man, whose face he vaguely remembered from earlier.

It was unfortunately clear that the man remembered _him_ all too well, however.

“You! Kid!” The man’s voice was rough as he gestured for the blonde boy to come forward.

 _It’s probably from all that yelling,_ Armin considered, standing just inside the safety of the wire fence.

“Is there something I can help you with, sir?” He inquired, tone as pleasant as he could make it. “You know the front door is just over-“

“I _know_ where the goddamned front door is,” the man barked, eliciting a flinch. His fingers wrapped around the spaces in the fence, taking a step forward. Armin mentally willed himself not to take one back. “I came here to talk to _you,_ ” he continued, jabbing a finger at him. “You’re the one who fixed my car, right?”

“The Model T?” Armin clarified, striving to keep his tone calm.

“Yeah, yeah, that one. The fliver.” The man nodded, somehow conveying vehemence even with that simple action. “I wanna tell you what happened after I left here.”

Armin took a (silent) deep breath through his nose, nodding politely.

“So I’m leavin’ the shop, happy as could be, right?” The man narrated, as if recalling a fairy tale that infuriated him. “I’m driving down the street, heading back to work, since I got a very limited amount of time before I’m late, see? And my wife’s at home, making dinner for me and my kid, expecting me to be on time, you know?”

 _How is he managing to phrase every sentence as a question?_ Armin wondered, refraining from phrasing the inquiry out loud.

“When lo and _behold,_ ” the man continued, “somethin’ starts feeling real funny about how she’s driving. Way too much play in her and a lotta wobble. So I pull over, see, and get out to figure out what’s wrong. Wouldcha like to know what I found?”

Before Armin had a chance to reply, the man shook the fence so hard it rattled, and shouted, “The goddamn tire’s flat as my mother’s bosom!”

Armin drew back slightly, list of replies running through his head. He finally settled on, “Did you have a spare with you, sir?”

“No; I gave it to my cousin to use it on _his_ vehicle two weeks ago,” the man spat, as if this turn of events was entirely Armin’s fault.

“Is it being brought back?”

“Oh, Cenac’s moving it, alright, but not back to you palookas. I’m taking it up to Dok’s, a few blocks away. Maybe _they’ll_ manage to get it right,” the man added scathingly.

He’d let go of the fence with a final rattle, lumbering back down the street before Armin was able to ask him any other questions. He did, however, hear with perfect clarity the final remark the man tossed over his shoulder:

“Last time I come here with car trouble!”

Armin sighed, allowing himself to turn away and scrub his hands over his face. His head felt like it was buzzing, anxiety and stress making concentration difficult.

It didn’t help that not two minutes after the event, a cheery whistling alerted him to the returning presence of one Jean Kirschtein. Despite knowing it was unfair, Armin couldn’t help but feel a little bitter that he’d been left on his own to deal with such a (former) customer. Especially when Jean was so much better at handling things of that nature.

Armin turned around to grab his grease cloth, wiping off his dirty hands as the footsteps grew closer, trying to avoid conveying irritation.

“What’s shaking? I thought I heard yelling a few minutes ago.” Jean somehow managed to be abhorrently cheerful and annoyingly concerned in a single breath.

“Just a customer,” Armin answered shortly, wiping his hands until the skin turned red.

 “Most customers don’t come in by the side gate,” Jean noted, curious.

“He didn’t come in at all. He stood outside by the fence.”

“What’d he want?”

Armin scrunched his eyebrows, the pounding in his temples growing increasingly more frustrating. “He wanted to complain.”

“Why?”

“His car had a flat tire.”

“Did he have a spare?”

“No!” Armin turned around, hands raised as he snapped. “He came here just to tell me that I hadn’t fixed the rims of his tires properly earlier, and he got a flat tire while driving.”

Jean tilted his head, confusion clouding his amber eyes. “You seem unnaturally stressed out by something so small.”

“That would be,” Armin replied, tone shrill, “because I fucking _messed up_ and that _apparently_ inspired him to never come _back_!”

“So what?” Jean seemed completely unruffled. “The way he sounds, we’re better off without him.”

“You don’t understand,” Armin sighed, sliding to the ground to rest his back against a white Rolls Royce. “I’ve never lost a customer before.”

Jean paused for a beat before abruptly following, ruffling Armin’s hair as he sat down next to him. They sat in silence for a few moments, both lost to their own thoughts.

Jean was the first to break. “I didn’t know you had that mouth on you.”

Armin smiled faintly, looking at his shoes. “I guess I didn’t either, really, until now.”

Jean grinned at him, strange hair glinting softly in the sunlight. “You should have snapped like that at that guy. Bet he would’ve shut like a trap.”

Armin scoffed, small smile on his lips as he enacted the scenario in his head. “I think I heard someone saying that anger against anger can only produce one thing.”

Jean went red, both of their minds flicking back to earlier in the week when Erwin had had a stern discussion with Jean about getting irritated with unhappy customers. The words slipping past Armin’s mouth echoed in Jean’s mind as Erwin’s voice, and he scratched the back of his neck.

“Well, that’s different,” he muttered finally.

With a slight eye-roll, Armin caved. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

“S’fine. Probably deserved it on some level.”

Armin cuffed him lightly on the arm, body relaxing as the easy conversation flowed. “That’s not fair.”

Jean rubbed his arm in pretended outrage, looking down at him. “Neither is you slugging me.”

 _“Slug_ you?” Armin laughed. “That wasn’t even hard enough to be called a sissy punch.”

“Whatever. We shouldn’t demonstrate violence against our co-workers,” Jean replied wisely.

Armin gave him a half-hearted glare.

“Look at it this way; work ends in twenty minutes, at which time you will be free to faff off and do whatever you please over the weekend. No yelling customers or stupid fellow employees.” Jean leaned against the front of the car, tone light. “It’ll be smooth sailing for two days.”

“What do you do? On your weekends?” Armin inquired, curiously.

Jean shrugged, eyes fixed on some object in the distance that Armin could not see. “Sometimes I go to see my ma; she lives a hundred miles or so away from here. Sometimes I just stay and do a whole lot of nothing. I like to draw,” he added, quiet on the last words.

“Really?” Armin’s curiosity bloomed. “What do you draw?”

Jean’s face reddened again, and he waved a hand aimlessly. “Stuff I see during my day. People, sometimes. I’m not all that good or anything.”

“I bet you’re amazing,” Armin said confidently, smiling at him.

Jean glanced down at him, ears still a faint shade of scarlet. “Whatever,” he mumbled.

Someone behind them threw open the back door, and shouted, “Arlert! Kirschtein! Whenever you’d like to surface from underneath God knows what, we’re wrapping up!”

Armin and Jean sat still, under the cover of the front of the car, sharing a grin. They didn’t stand until the speaker had gone away again, door shutting with a _clap!_

“I hope you have a nice weekend, Jean,” Armin offered, slight smile back in place.

“You too, Touchy,” Jean responded with a smirk. “Don’t forget to yell as you go out.”

Armin rolled his eyes, and punched him on the arm again as he went inside.

Just for good measure.

-=-=-=-

Saturday was slow and sleepy, and Armin used it to write to his grandfather and iron his clothes. All the while music played in his head, his steps moving in time to the song that no one else could hear.

-=-=-=-

Sunday afternoon found Armin sitting on the barstool, foot nervously tapping the metal leg.

“You’re early.” He started violently at the playful tone.

“Eren.”

“That’s the name.” The dark-haired boy moved behind the bar area, getting out a glass. “What do you fancy?”

“Water, honestly,” Armin smiled nervously.

Eren grinned, sliding two glasses of clear liquid across the counter. “Not much of a drinker, huh?”

Armin shook his head, sipping it gratefully.

“I wondered what was wrong with my drink,” the boy smiled easily, sitting down across from him. Two pairs of hands rested on the polished wood; tan and fair contrasting against its surface.

“Nothing at all!” Armin shook his head. “It’s just that I’m a lightweight and I wanted to keep my head.”

“How come? Lots of people come in here with the intent of getting slammed. It’s not always as classy as you might expect.”

 Armin smiled wryly, then flushed. “I…wanted to keep watching you,” he mumbled, glancing down at the water glass in his hands.

When he had mustered the courage to look up again, Eren was smiling.

“Well I’ll be,” he said.

And then didn’t say anything for some while. Armin’s water was almost gone when he spoke again to break the silence with a question.

“What’s your favourite colour?”

“Oh, um…it’s always been an impasse between brown and off-white. Which probably sounds very dull,” he chuckled nervously.

Eren shrugged. “Why those two?”

“When I was little, I had this little suit that I wore all the time. It was my favourite article of clothing, actually. And it was a sort of off-white colour. People would always think I was so clever for saying that,” he smiled.

Eren was leaning against the counter, eyes fixed on him. “What about the brown thing?”

Armin’s grin went a little mischievous. “It’s because while I might not be able to keep down my alcohol, I _can_ drink my weight in coffee. It is my saving grace.”

Eren laughed. “Sounds like quite the tie you’ve got going on there.”

“Oh, I know. What about you?”

“My favourite colour? Red. Like, uh, blood or silk, I guess. That shade.”

“Very nice.” Armin smiled.

“Tell me more.”

“About my favourite colours?”

“Anything. Tell me everything about you.”

“We might be sitting here quite a while if I do that,” Armin noted with a wry smile.

Eren flashed him another big grin. “I’ve got all night.”

 _I could fall in love with that smile if he’d let me,_ Armin thought.

But instead of saying it out loud, he told Eren what he could. It was a give-and-take conversation; and Armin got the feeling that the boy was trying to set him at ease as much as he was trying to _attain_ ease.

“I guess you could say I’ve always loved cars. I mean, I could never see myself doing something else, you know?”

Eren nodded. “I’ve worked here pretty much my whole life. I started out scrubbing toilets, which wasn’t much fun. So I worked harder, and longer, and I got myself up to here.”

“That’s amazing, Eren,” Armin said softly, aware he sounded frankly starry-eyed, but too far gone to care.

“Yeah?” Eren looked up sharply, as if he wasn’t sure he believed him.

Armin nodded. “I’m sure I couldn’t have done that.”

“Wasn’t that bad,” Eren muttered, looking at his hands.

“What’s your family like?” Armin inquired, changing the subject.

“I’ve got a sister-she’s up there. I mean, anything that could be achieved through school and the like, she could do. She got a scholarship and moved away a year or so ago. I’m really proud of her.”

Armin nodded. “That’s brilliant. I don’t have any siblings.”

“Parents?”

Armin shook his head, voice dropping. “They ah, they liked travelling. They always promised to take me with them someday. But when I was six, they went on a cruise to the Caribbean. Right on the cusp of a hurricane, actually. They…didn’t come home, after that.”

Eren was silent for a moment. “My mother died when I was eight. She had been sick for a long time. I guess it was kind of a relief, in the end. She used to cry because it hurt so much.”

Armin nodded, unsure of what to say. There was no point in saying ‘I’m sorry’, and saying ‘I understand’ seemed stupid.

Eren lifted his glass and held it up to toast Armin’s. “To family, then.”

Armin gave a small smile and clinked their cups together lightly. “To family.”

They drank their impromptu draughts, eyes flitting over each other and then darting away shyly.

Eren set his glass down and looked at him for a few moments when he’d finished. Armin’s face went red. “What?”

“Sorry. I just like looking at you.”

“…Why?”

“Because, I don’t know. I guess I just wanted to?”

“That’s a terrible reason.”

Eren grinned. “Still true.”

Armin scoffed. “Why do you dance?”

“Dancing is good exercise.”

“That can’t be the only reason.”

Eren shrugged, growing more serious. “People used to tell me it was girly.”

“So what did you do?”

Eren winked at him. “I danced more.”

Armin rolled his eyes. “You’re absurd.”

Eren waved it off. “Like you’re the first person to have said that.”

“Well, it’s true.” Armin’s face felt stretched from so much smiling.

“Do you want to dance with me?”

Armin stuttered and went red. “W-what?”

“I _saw_ you watching me dancing, you know. No one’s ever looked at me like that without coming to ask if they could dance with me next time.”

“You know I can’t…do that, Eren…” Armin’s voice was low. “I never can.”

“Maybe not up there with all those folks watching,” Eren stood up. “But no one can see us here.” He held out a hand and gave a slightly mocking bow. “May I have this dance?”

 Armin’s face was probably on fire. “We don’t have any music.”

“I’ll put some on.” Eren promised, practically dragging him towards the dance floor. “You stutter when you’re nervous, huh?

“Always have,” Armin admitted, standing alone for a moment as Eren selected a record and put it on.

Warm music crackled to life like flames being coaxed from a fire. Armin recognised the tune as one he’d heard on the radio before-a sweet, lilting melody that seemed spun out of silence.

“Bit of a change from yesterday,” he observed quietly, allowing Eren to take his hands.

“I usually try to keep things lively, especially if it’s their first time.”

Armin’s hand rested on the dark-haired boy’s shoulder, the other clasped firmly in Eren’s own.

“Why?” He inquired, swaying slowly to match Eren’s lead.

“Because dancing like this is much more intimate,” Eren answered simply. “It makes them more…jumpy, I guess. It’s nice to set them at ease.”

“Oh. So you weren’t worried about that with me?” Armin looked up at him curiously.

Eren was quiet for a few moments, head tilted as he listened to the music.

_It must have been, that something lovers call fate-_

_Kept me saying, “I have to wait…”_

“I guess I wanted to skip right to it,” he said finally.

Armin smiled. “How impatient of you.”

“I don’t hear you complaining,” Eren observed, smiling at him from a distance that made Armin’s breath stutter in his throat.

“Well, I guess I’m just forgetful.”

Eren hummed lightly, turning to dip Armin over in a move that made him giggle. “I’ll have to ensure that I’m not so easily misremembered.”

“I don’t think there’s much danger of that,” Armin noted with another breathy laugh as he regained equilibrium.

_It had to be you, it had to be you._

Quiet reigned aside from the soft music.

Eren showed him the dance floor like it was a kingdom; and he was the ruler. His feet were certain, never wavering, whereas Armin was faltering and blushy. Eventually, he chose to stop using words in favour of actions; telling him it was alright in the way he held Armin’s little hand like it was a bird. With the way in which his thumb brushed little circular patterns over the shorter boy’s hip. How he watched Armin’s face like he was drunk on it; like he could never have enough.

Eren taught him how to make love on his feet.

_For nobody else, gave me a thrill-with all of your faults,_

_I love you still._

_It had to be you, wonderful you…it had to be you._

The song ended with a few bars of crackling silence, Armin’s face still tucked into the crook of a warm shoulder.

“What did you think?” Eren inquired, seemingly just as unwilling to acknowledge the dance over as Armin was.

The words were out before he could stop them; they words he’d been thinking since he stepped inside. “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

His face was beet red and he was unimaginably grateful for the fact that in that moment Eren couldn’t behold it.

“Well I’ll be,” Eren said again, and Armin didn’t know what that meant.

Shame overcame in him in an instant; internal questions whirring to life like the engine of a new car. _Why did I say that why did I let that slip out what am I doing here why did I let myself get attached so quickly why-_

“Why is your hair so long?”

He sagged slightly in Eren’s arms, equal parts grateful for the distraction and reminded of _whose_ arms were holding him.

“I…I guess I always liked it long,” he answered softly. “My mother always said it was pretty.”

“What’d your dad say?”

Armin smiled, standing up straight to see him better. “He said I looked like a girl.”

Eren’s mouth twitched into a grin. “So what’d you do about that?”

“I just grew it longer.”

“Who knew that such a sense of wickedness was lurking behind such a pretty face?”

Armin’s grin didn’t fade, but his cheeks were stained softly with pink in the dim light as he stepped back, checking the clock. “I should probably go.”

Eren nodded, responding smile abruptly wiped from his face as he nodded, almost curtly. Armin wondered if he thought that he had grown tired of the company.

“I had a wonderful time,” he added shyly, reaching to tuck a strand of blonde hair behind his ear.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show up, honestly,” Eren confessed, features relaxing. “I did, too.”

He watched as Armin went down the stairs, ears red, until the little bell on the door rang, announcing his departure.

-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things to clear up some of the references/words/ect. in this chapter:  
> \- A ‘dewdropper’ is an unemployed person, or someone looking for a job.  
> \- Cenac is a legitimate towing service that has been around since the 1920’s.  
> \- A ‘fliver’ was a slang term for the Ford Model T.  
> \- A ‘palooka’ is a social outcast.  
> \- The song used in this chapter was  
> [this one](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PbFwkP3BsLI)  
> \- [Lyrics](http://songmeanings.com/songs/view/3530822107859103988/)  
> \- I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)  
> 


	6. Possibility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have something to tell you.” Eren’s voice was a breathy whisper, eyes half-lidded, voice pitched like the words he was about to offer were tempting sin.
> 
> “What?” Armin was no saint, and had always, always wondered what it was like to be a sinner crying mercy from the devil

_-=-=-=-_

_“I wanted to preserve this moment, this slice of time when the night was cool and bright with reflected moonlight and the possibility of a kiss hung between us, full of unspent promise.”_

_-Alex Flinn_

_-=-=-=-_

Armin was working on re-organising his desk when the awkward clearing of a throat interrupted him. Glancing up, neck-deep in papers and filing, he was surprised to find Connie waiting. His hands were behind his back, easy grin plastered over his tanned face.

“What’s wrong?” Armin inquired, standing up fully to take him in.

“Nothing’s _wrong,”_ Connie assured him, bringing his hands from out behind his back and offering Armin the object clutched in his palm.

Armin took it slowly. A miniature model of the Ford Model T, perfectly designed, every detail lovingly inscribed. It was just long enough to fit along the length of his palm, and Armin stared at it for some moments before looking up. “This is beautiful.”

Connie shuffled his foot, sheepish grin lurking in the corner of his mouth. “No worries. This old aunt I had willed it to me when she heard I was going into the business. The fewer reminders I have of her, the better.”

Armin’s mouth quirked upwards. “Well, thank you. I’m, uh, honoured?”

Connie’s face burst into a full grin, perching himself on the edge of the desk as he craned his neck to look over. “What are you doing?”

Armin gestured to the accumulative pile of papers rising from the floor. “This won’t sort itself.”

Connie’s brown eyes widened in surprise. “Sure is a lot there. You always struck me as a guy who’s got everything labelled and sorted and whatnot. Same as Erwin.”

“Organisation doesn’t have much to do with it,” Armin explained with a shrug. “While I’m working outside, people leave these on my desk.” He held up a slip of paper for the shorter man to see. “Progress reports on cars, insurance forms, ect. After a while they just kind of…”

“Pile up,” Connie finished with a nod, swinging his legs. “Need any help?”

Armin glanced up, partly in surprise and part in suspicion. Surprise because other than Jean working with him in the yard, no one had offered him help before. Suspicious because-

“Don’t you have work of your own?” He demanded.

Connie flicked his eyes from the papers to Armin’s face. With a triumphant smile, he held up a clipboard with Armin had not previously noticed before amidst the myriad of other things on the desk. “Erwin gave me the job of employee reporting.”

“Employee…reporting?” Armin looked confused.

Connie shrugged, deflating slightly. “I’m pretty sure he just wanted to give me something to do.”

“Oh.” Armin blinked, stifling the urge to laugh as he weighed his options. Would Connie do more harm than good? Probably. Were his intentions well meaning? Definitely. With a slight sigh, Armin nodded. “You can help…if you want.”

Connie jumped off the edge of his desk, hurrying around it to reach Armin on the other side. “Sure! What can I do?”

Armin smiled resignedly. “Alright, sort this stack into three piles…”

-=-=-=-=-

After an hour or more of getting his desk in order, (and getting Connie under control) Armin sat back on his heels and gave a resigned sigh. Connie sprawled against the desk, hand splayed over his stomach as if he’d just run a race.

“That took forever,” he announced. “And I’m starving.”

“It’s only half past Eleven…” Armin noted, amused.

“Don’t care. The hunger doesn’t recognise time, only emptiness.” Connie sat up.

Armin rolled his eyes, running a hand through his blonde hair. “Fine. Get some lunch. I’m going to the yard to help Jean; I’m already late.”

“Ooh, I haven’t gotten his employee report yet,” Connie grinned, mischief gleaming in his eyes. “Can I eat my lunch outside with you guys?”

“Um…” Armin had no idea how Jean would react, but it seemed rude to refuse.

“If you can be quiet,” he stipulated.

Connie snorted, reaching into his bag to pull out another one made of brown paper. “Even _I_ know that’s not going to happen, Armin.”

Armin thought of Eren and managed to refrain from tugging on his hair.

-=-=-=-

 _“Tell_ me he’s not going to be out here with us for the next two hours.” Jean’s voice was flat.

Armin held up his hands, noonday sun casting shadows on the ground. “It wasn’t my decision.”

“Sure it was!” Connie chirped, mouth muffled with as he continued. “You said, ‘You can eat lunch with us if you be quiet.”

“And you actually thought he’d manage it,” Jean fixed Armin with a weak glare.

“I take offense at that statement,” Connie informed, completely unaffected as he swallowed.

“I don’t give a shit.” Jean poked a finger at him. “Keep your mouth shut. If I make _one_ mistake on one of these cars because I was distracted by you chattering, you will pay for it twice over. Once for the value of the mistake, and another for me putting up with you. Understood?”

Connie nodded sulkily, somehow chugging his water at the same time.

Armin, who had been watching the whole exchange, smiled slightly. “Trust me, Connie-he’s much more bark than he is bite.”

Jean scowled, muttering something as he turned back to the car he’d been working on. Armin picked up his grease rag and moved to a cherry red fliver.

The first question came an impressive five minutes later. “Say, Armin?”

Armin, deep under the hood of the car, tilted his head. “Yes, Connie?”

“On average, how much do you think you sweat per day?”

“Um.”

Connie grinned. “See, I notice you with that rag all the time, but I don’t see you sweating. Do you just keep it on hand for Jean?”

“Fuck you, Springer.” Jean’s voice echoed strangely from underneath the car. “It’s a _grease_ rag, not a sweat mop.”

“I don’t…think I sweat that much?” Armin cut in, before any harsher words were spoken.

“Swell.” Connie leaned against the doorframe.

“You’re sick,” Jean informed him, taking a chug from his water bottle.

“I try.”

Work proceeded, despite the amicable friction between Connie and Jean, and all in all Armin thought that they got a fair bit of work accomplished. His desk remained inside, neat and (mostly) organised, and the cars they’d worked on were ready to be picked up by their respective owners.

Plus, at least Connie had been happy.

Armin reminded himself of this with the dying sunlight casting shadows on his face, thoughts straying ashamedly, irresistibly, back to the place where he wanted to be more than anything.

And the reason why he had to stay away, as far as possible.

-=-=-=-

The weekends passed with surprising speed; soon April was giving way to May and things began to grow warmer.

A new dance had emerged-The Charleston. Using both swaying arms and the fast movement of the feet. To begin the dance, one first moved the right foot back one step and then kicked backwards with the left foot while the right arm moves forward. Then both feet and arms were replaced to the start position and the right foot kicked forwards while the right arm moved backwards. All done with a little hop in between steps.

Armin _loved_ it.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since he’d gone that Sunday; two weeks too long in a too crowded city with too many too many too _much-_

 _This weekend,_ Armin promised himself, scrubbing doggedly at the silver plating of another faceless car among dozens. Every swipe showed his reflection, and the determination inscribed thereon, more clearly.

Armin had acknowledged to himself a little over a week ago, for the first time, that what he felt for Eren was not friendship. It was not the urge to learn how to dance, it was not the desire to get out more often and develop better taste in liquor; it was the sheer, undivided desire to see the boy again who made Armin’s pulse beat quicker than any tune could. Who moved through his blood sluggish as wine and fast as strong whiskey, and who clouded his logical reasoning like a drug.

And by God, Armin had never been so willing to let it take him. So willing and yet, simultaneously, so reticent. Every day that he thought about it, it became more clear to him of how _much_ he was risking.

And, scarier still, the thought that he would _keep_ risking it.

Armin had never been in love before. Which made it even more difficult, at times, to discern whether it was Eren’s company or the feeling Eren gave him that kept drawing him back. Despite having no foreknowledge of a relationship, Armin knew what the difference between love and infatuation was, and infatuation barely covered it.

At least, he consoled himself, there _was_ the honest desire for more. To know more about Eren, to know what he had done and what he intended to do, to know how he _felt_ and whom he felt it for.

The desire for knowledge of _people_ was as ardent in Armin’s mind as the knowledge of books. Perhaps that was what guided him.

It was what was guiding him back to Wall Maria, after all.

-=-=-=-

Armin had never come on a weekday, so he couldn’t judge whether or not it seemed unusually busy. (But regardless of his knowledge, he could see, quite clearly, that it _was_ busy.) Busy enough that his blonde head of hair caught no glances, the crowd thick enough that he was just what he wanted to be-unnoticed.

The building around him hummed with people laughing and talking. A few couples were dancing to the accompaniment of the record player, and Armin felt a warm glow in his chest at the memory of last week resurfacing.

 _We danced to the music that machine made for us,_ He wanted to say. _A beautiful boy held me in his arms and looked at me like I was wonderful, too._

Nervously, he tugged on one of his shirtsleeves, abruptly then letting it fall limp. He didn’t recognise a single soul in the room, no matter how crowded it was. It was odd, feeling a little lost in a place full of so many happy people.

But then, it wouldn’t be the first time.

He whirled around as a foreign hand tapped lightly on his shoulder. Blue eyes widened as he finished the turn, then took in the figure before him.

Eren looked like he was restraining a laugh, but no words came out of his mouth. They stood facing one another for the space of about two seconds, before the slightly taller boy was motioning him to follow. He pushed through the crowd as easily as if it wasn’t there at all, and Armin could only wonder at that and the nature of their destination as he followed, more slowly.

Eren seemed to know exactly where he was going, and he didn’t stop until they were stepping through a small, slightly rusted back door that led out to the back street. The faint flicker of worry in Armin’s chest only grew as Eren’s wide smile disintegrated into a frown, hands resting on his hips as his lips finally pulled apart to form words.

“What’s the big idea?”

Armin drew back slightly, brow furrowed as he worked through Eren’s words. The other boy didn’t seem really _angry,_ but there was a faint air of frustration that he was desperate to dispel.

“What do you mean?”

Eren took a step forward, covering the distance in a single stride that Armin had put between them, and poked his chest. “You show up, a fella teaches you some dance moves, and then, what? You skip town for two weeks? Not a single peep from you.”

How was Armin supposed to answer? What was the _right_ kind of response to something like that; what kind of defence was he supposed to put up?

_Doesheknowhowcanhenotknowmaybehedoesn’tknowhavetocalmdownandfocus-_

“Sorry…” He finally got out, voice little over a whisper. “I…I um…”

“What?” Eren’s frown was still there, twitching in his left eyebrow, and were his hands working slightly? Armin swallowed.

“I was afraid.”

The incredulity on Eren’s face was perfectly plain. “Afraid.”

Armin’s eyes flitted to the ground, not knowing how to respond to the intensity he found in Eren’s. His cheeks felt like they were burning, or feverish. Maybe there wasn’t a difference.

“You can’t act like you don’t know that _friends_ don’t do this, Eren.”

Eren blinked, irritation giving way to raw-faced honesty as he tilted his head slightly. “We’re friends?”

Armin was taken aback. Was there some other name for it? Or did Eren not regard them as friends at all? Fear that he had overstepped his boundaries again assaulted him, and he had to struggle to remain focussed.

“I think so.” His words were slow; trickling. “And I can’t…I don’t know…”

Eren was silent for a moment. His hands, resting at his sides, twitched again, and abruptly leapt forward as the boy himself _moved,_ in a blur of earth-coloured motion that poured itself into Armin’s space like wind through a field.

And then Eren was kissing him.

He tasted a little like copper; he smelt a bit like earth. His entire body was one living, humming, _twisting_ thing, like molten rock moving unchangeably under the crust of the earth. His lips moved like they were doing a complicated dance over Armin’s own, and before he could process, before his _toofasttooquick_ mind could being screaming things like _stop_ and _this is wrong,_ Armin responded.

Eren’s lips opened over his like the petals of a flower; like Armin was sunlight and he was dying for light. Armin’s hands gripped his shirtsleeves like a lifeline, holding on against the onslaught of movement.

Eren broke apart abruptly; wildfire pulling back as it touched the surface of a river. His face was still so _close,_ his breath warm and a trifle damp.

“You’re so afraid of sticking out,” He breathed. “You’re terrified of someone seeing you, the you underneath.” Licks of flame traced their way over Armin’s skin as Eren pressed more kisses, body leaning helplessly into the touch as he heard his mouth form a sound it had not made for another boy before. “Why do you not understand how beautiful it is?”

Armin’s mind ground to a halt, the lightning fast process turning to the settling of dust as he replayed the words in his mind. His lips felt swollen and slow as he formed his reply. “I’m-“ His breath heaved as deadweight sank in his chest. “I can’t, Eren. This world you have in your head, this pretty, gossamer world, it isn’t real. It doesn’t exist because it _can’t_.” His voice sounded small, and fragile, even in his own ears.

Eren was undeterred. “Then let me. Let me see you. _You,_ ” he said the words twice, emphasising what Armin already understood too clearly. His body quieted at the request, eyes finding Eren’s again in the gloom. But his voice still felt so heavy in the atmosphere.

“I don’t know how.”

Eren’s eyes, dark in the dim light, glimmered. It was as if Armin could see the cogs turning behind those slivers of green and gold, and when Eren had found the words he was searching for, he said them slowly.

“Start by trusting me.”

Another breath hitched in Armin’s chest, limbs growing heavy. He wondered briefly if Eren understood the magnitude of what he was asking, or politely demanding. But, then again, maybe Eren understood better than anyone. After all, who better than to ask _Do you understand what you’re saying-asking something like this of someone like me?_ Than another person who’d so casually demonstrated he was of the same inclinations.

“I want to.” It was all he could say; the only thing he knew for certain.

“I _know_ it’s dangerous. I know that you’re scared, and for perfectly good reasons.” Eren was growing closer again, and it was _so_ hard to remain like they were; with treacherous inches of space between them and words hanging, unspoken, when they could be writing poems on each other’s’ skin and making silent promises on their own breathless lips.

Eren paused, and Armin felt simultaneously relieved, and the powerful urge to scream. “But I also know that we have a chance, Armin. I know that I hate watching you walk out the door, and I hate how scared you are. And,” his voice quieted, cadence slowing as he finished. “I know that I want to know more about you.”

 _I want to know more._ Hadn’t that been Armin’s thought only earlier that day? A giddy wave swept over his mind at the memory, and he glanced up at Eren as if to detect a lie.

“I want that, too.”

And he did. He wanted it more, even more, than the frantic press of lips, or the rabbit’s pulse evident in his wrists. He wanted to know everything about him, as Eren had said so long ago on that bar stool- _tell me everything about you._

If only Armin had room in his mind to hold it.

Eren relaxed, words coming out again in a lighter tone. “So now that we have that decided, can I _please_ kiss you again?”

Armin grinned breathlessly, hands releasing Eren’s sleeves in favour of moving to his shoulders.

“You _may,_ ” he smiled teasingly, and Eren rolled his eyes before leaning forward, lips sealing again, more satisfying than any worded promise.

Kissing Eren was like the sensation of feeling alcohol take a toll; like setting off a box of fireworks all at once. Like driving a car far faster than he should and being too far gone to care. Armin found his hand reaching up, not knowing where to go, until it tangled in Eren’s hair and _oh,_ maybe that’s where it had been going all along. Eren kissed him until he was breathless, until his mouth was wet and plush, warm with blood, eyes bright with the high.

“I have something to tell you.” Eren’s voice was a breathy whisper, eyes half-lidded, voice pitched like the words he was about to offer were tempting sin.

“What?” Armin was no saint, and had always, always wondered what it was like to be a sinner crying mercy from the devil.

“You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever met.”

Armin’s mouth abruptly clamped shut, lips working to grasp at words like straws. He stumbled forward, the few centimetres it took to wrap his arms around Eren, to seek shelter in his warmth. His voice was soft, and muffled, but achingly sincere. “Thank you.”

Eren didn’t respond, but his arms went slowly around Armin, until they were both caged in a mutual embrace. Armin breathed softly against his neck, eyes slipping closed as he allowed his mind to go quiet, and reminders if the need to go away and to _hide_ and to step back were silent.

Until all that he could hear was Eren’s heartbeat against his chest, and the sound of faint music, coming from inside.

-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your wonderful feedback! It is truly invaluable to me, and all your lovely comments/questions mean the world to me. Speaking of which, I forgot to mention last week that the lovely im-drowning-in-feels-send-help.tumblr.com has drawn fan art for this fic! After taking some time to (squeal like a six year old at Christmas) admire all there was to admire, I took the link and placed it  
> [here.](http://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com/post/117858983702/im-drowning-in-feels-send-help-so-i-said-i-was#notes)  
> Go check it out!  
> Finally, if you’re interested, I wrote a little oneshot detailing the last half of this chapter from Eren’s perspective. I desperately wanted to include it in this chapter, but it just didn’t really fit. So, instead, you can find it  
> [here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5905714)  
> Thank you all so much again for both your patience and feedback!


	7. Undiscovered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I know right now is that you are very beautiful, and I am very scared. Scared of a lot of things that I can’t control, but there is one thing I thought of tonight while having dinner with some very new friends of mine. If you still want to do this, or if you even want to try, then I don’t want to go into it blind. I want to be your friend, too; I want to know what you like and what you know and what you want to do. Is that okay? Please say it is, because I don’t think I’m getting out of this any time soon.

**-=-=-=-=-**

Chapter Seven

_“The truly scary thing about undiscovered lies is that they have a greater capacity to diminish us than exposed ones. They erode our strength, our self-esteem, our very foundation.”_

_― Cheryl Hughes_

-=-=-=-=-

Armin was unusually tired when he woke up the next morning. As a result, he had to hurry through breakfast in order to get to work on time.

Jean looked amused when Armin appeared in the yard, blonde hair slightly mussed and one jacket sleeve rolled down.

“Late night?” He inquired, leaning against the hood of a freshly polished car.

Armin glanced down at his rumpled appearance, flushing slightly as he hastily adjusted the offending sleeve.

“Just one of those days, I guess,” he shrugged.

Jean grinned crookedly, tossing him his grease rag. “The undersides of these cars won’t care.”

“Lord’s truth,” Armin muttered, glancing at his clipboard and squinting as he looked for the first car therein.

-=-=-=-

Though he had certainly appreciated Jean’s assistance when they first began working together, Armin found it to be invaluable over the resulting weeks.

Around mid-morning, Annie stuck her head out the door, cool blue eyes sweeping over the yard until they found Armin’s. “Mr. Smith would like you in his office, Arlert.”

Aforementioned Armin glanced up, apprehension speeding up his heartbeat. But he was grateful that his voice came out calmly when he replied. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Annie nodded, door shutting with its customary _bang!_ Armin’s already stiff shoulders jumped, and the noise attracted Jean, a dozen or more feet away.

“Something wrong?” He inquired, running a hand through the tp of his hair, which stuck up all over the place from the humidity.

“Erwin wants me in his office,” Armin explained, biting his lip. “But I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, and I don’t want to leave you with all the work.”

Jean rolled his eyes, waving a hand. “Get going. I’ll keep working on the cars on my list.” He flashed another grin. “You vastly overestimate my charity.”

Armin rolled his eyes, wiping his hands with his rag. “I think you underestimate yourself, Jean.”

His co-worker turned red, ducking under his car with a grunt and an echoic mumble.

Armin chuckled, the tightness in his muscles relaxing as he went through the door. He passed by Connie, who sent him a wave, and lifted his arm in an answering one. Aside from Annie’s voice on the phone, the only sound was the tread of his own feet, thudding up the stairs.

-=-=-=-=

Armin paused at the top of the staircase, ears picking up on a secondary sound. Erwin’s voice, presumably in conversation, carried through the thinner walls.

Armin made his way to the office door, feeling a little guilty for overhearing his words. It wasn’t his fault for hearing, but _listening_ to his boss’ speech was another matter entirely.

“I don’t know if I can.” His voice was frustrated. “You know my position at the current time.”

There was a pause where the person on the other end of the line was speaking, and Erwin sighed.

“It isn’t your fault. I apologise for being snappish.”

Armin felt another wave of guilt at the sincerity in his voice, and he abruptly knocked on the door.

“A moment.” Erwin’s voice grew fractionally louder as he responded to Armin, and his tone immediately grew more professional. “I’ll see what I can do.”

A pause. “Thank you.”

There was the noise of the phone being hung up, and then the heavy tread of feet moving across the room. Erwin opened the door himself, light flooding the hallway and illuminating Armin’s face.

The stress lines around his eyes smoothed somewhat when he realised who it was, smiling slightly. “Ah, Armin. Please come in.”

The young employee nodded, following him inside. Erwin gestured to a chair facing his desk, and Armin sat down.

“You wanted to speak to me, sir?”

“Yes.” Erwin took a seat in his own chair, fingers steepling as he glanced Armin over. The smaller man resisted the urge to fidget.

“You’ve done a lot of good work here,” he began, derailing Armin’s train of thought. “Your records show a 94% satisfaction rate, and you’re a diligent worker.”

Armin felt the tips of his ears grow warm. “Thank you, sir.”

Erwin nodded, and Armin again got the sensation that there was an air of distraction in the room. Thick as tar, invisible as a poisonous gas. But Erwin broke the silence once again, pressing on.

“Given as such, I have elected to raise your salary.”

Armin’s eyes widened, surprise cooling his ears and expanding his irises. “Thank you, sir.”

Erwin smiled. “Don’t thank me. It’s what you’ve earned.”

Armin was reminded of Jean’s words from before. _He doesn’t hire people because he feels bad for them; he does it because he thinks they know what they’re doing._ The thought made his chest feel warm.

“What about Jean, sir?” He inquired, the thought striking him. “He’s been working here almost as long as I have, and he’s been an indescribable help.”

The earnestness of his tone provoked another slight smile from his boss, and Erwin leaned back. “We’ll see.”

Armin could only nod, tone inquiring as he straightened. “Is that all, sir?”

“Yes. Thank you for coming.”

Armin stood up, pushing his chair back in. “It’s no trouble.”

As he headed towards the door, Erwin’s voice called to him again. “Mr. Springer mentioned that you’ve been going to that night club he recommended. Is that correct?”

Armin’s throat went dry, hand stilling on the doorknob. “It is, sir.”

“I’ve been there a couple of times. What brings you back?”

Armin’s mind flew at breakneck speed over the myriad of responses he could offer, but all that came out was, “The excellence of the staff.”

Erwin chuckled. “Fair enough. My apologies for taking up your time, and good morning.”

“Good morning,” Armin repeated, letting himself out.

His pulse was still hammering in his temples as he went down the stairs, hands gripping the railing a little too tightly.

Armin paused for a moment in the hallway, drawing in several deep breaths and chiding himself inwardly. How was he supposed to be professional when a casual inquiry from his employer sent his heart into palpitations?

 _And not in a good way,_ his mind supplied wearily.

He needed to remember to stay calm…hide his emotions better. It wasn’t good for him to get riled up over-

“Armin!”

The blonde started violently, turning at the cheerful voice. Connie Springer stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, usual grin resting in the corners of his mouth.

“Oh. Morning, Connie. What’s happening?”

“Not much. You’re looking a bit pale.”

Armin opened his mouth to respond, but the shorter man beat him to it. “Which directly relates to the reason why I’m here. Sasha and I want to have you over for dinner.”

“Sasha…” Armin frowned as he thought. “She’s your…”

“My wife,” Connie responded, looking pleased as punch.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Armin confessed. He’d never seen Connie wearing a ring, so he’d just assumed.

Connie pulled at the collar of his shirt, lifting a thin silver chain attached to a plain gold band. “Since I do so much hands-on work, I thought this would be safer,” he explained. “Plus, I lose things a lot, so…Sasha said she didn’t care that other people could see it as long as she knew it was there, safe and sound.”

Armin smiled, liking her already. “When do you want me to come?”

“Could you make it tonight?” Connie looked a bit apprehensive. “I know it’s a little sudden, but my folks are coming into town tomorrow, and they aren’t leaving until next week.”

Armin took a few seconds to consider. He hadn’t been planning on going to Wall Maria that night, and he could always write that letter to his grandfather tomorrow…

“Sure.” He responded, smiling. “I would like that. Should I bring anything?”

Connie’s buzz-cut head shook itself. “Just yourself. We need to get some meat on those bones.”

Armin’s eyebrows rose. “Says the one hundred and twenty pound man.”

Connie shrugged, not insulted in the slightest. “Guilty as charged.”

“Thank you. For inviting me,” Armin got out, oddly touched.

Connie waved a hand, clearly refusing to be seen as impressive or generous. “No problem. I gotta get back to my office now, or I’ll get yelled at. Again. See you tonight!” He turned and began scurrying down the hallway, stopped only by Armin’s call.

“I don’t know your address!”

Connie froze, clasping a heart to his forehead. “And they told me in school that I was quick.”

He smiled as he came back, brown eyes flicking all over the place. “Got a place to write on?”

Armin pulled out his clipboard, looking up expectantly for the address, which Connie rattled off quickly. The blonde jotted it down, then put his pen away and smiled. “Okay. _Now_ you can go.”

Connie grinned, running down the hallways, before disappearing again into his office.

Armin rolled his eyes, going his own way, back to the yard.

-=-=-=-

The rest of the afternoon passed pleasantly enough; the yard was quiet except for the occasional visit from people coming to check on their vehicles. Armin and Jean worked, sometimes together, and sometimes apart, until they broke for a water break. As Armin picked his way across the yard to find his bottle, he remembered his invitation from earlier and turned to Jean.

“Say, have you ever been to the Springer’s house?”

Jean’s nose wrinkled slightly, holding up a finger while he drank water and putting it down a few moments later. “What, Connie?”

Armin nodded. “Do you know any other people with that surname?”

“Fair point. I’ve been _by_ their house. Never inside it. Why?”

“Connie asked me to come to dinner,” Armin explained, suddenly feeling rather shy. “So I just wondered…should I dress nicely?”

Jean’s head tilted to one side, a quirk he’d attained from thinking. “I mean, you always dress nicely when I see you…so I don’t know exactly what ‘Nice’ is for you. But it’s not like the Springers are sitting in the lap of luxury. Just wear something similar to what you have on.”

Armin nodded, a soft smile settling around his mouth. “Thanks for the advice.”

Jean waved a hand. “Not that I wouldn’t like to see Sasha Springer get her just desserts after she dumped a pie on top of my head last Autumn by being hopelessly out-dressed, but I’m guessing you wouldn’t appreciate being the tool of divine repercussion.”

“That is the most pretentious thing I’ve ever heard you say, Jean.” Armin grinned. “You’ve made great strides from the hot-headed insults’ tank you were before.”

The taller boy rolled his eyes, looking down at his watch. “Whatever. _Some_ of us actually read in their spare time. And some of us need to get going if they want time to wash up before they head over to a certain bald man’s house.”

“Isn’t there some line about how a shaven head signifies wisdom?” Armin wondered, not sure if he was getting the words quite right but enjoying the effect they had on his co-worker.

Jean drank the last of his water bottle down, then let it dangle from the slender fingers of his right hand. “I’m pretty sure that the Universe had a hit-and-miss with Connie. It’s achingly clear that they missed.”

Armin sipped at his own water, restraining a smile. He clutched the bottle tightly, and waved at Jean across the yard. “See you tomorrow!”

Amber eyes blinked up at him from where Jean was sitting on the steps now, and a rare smile surfaced to his lips as he lifted a hand in a parting wave. “You, too.”

Armin went out the back way, not wanting to bump into any of his co-workers and get stuck in conversation. He waved down a taxi on the main road, and hugged his bag to his knees as he watched the buildings slip by.

-=-=-=-=-

He had a quick wash at his house, the warm water cleansing him of grease, sweat, and the smell of the underside of countless cars. He’d never really liked the way that once a shirt had grease or dirt on it, it was ruined, but he settled for buying less expensive shirts and didn’t complain.

Half an hour later, he hurried from his apartment, said goodbye to Alice (who was ironing shirts in the living room) and hurried outside. He got the second cab that passed by, which slowed down a few feet ahead of him. Armin climbed inside, attempting to read off the address and button his shirtsleeves simultaneously.

“850 stupid, oh, hell, I mean-“

“Hell?” The cab driver sounded amused, and Armin abruptly looked up. “You don’t mind if I come along, do you?”

Armin sat in shock for a moment, fingers frozen around the stubborn shirtsleeve, then suddenly found his tongue.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not following me?”

He glared half-heartedly into the cool grey eyes looking at him in the rear-view mirror, evoking a small snort.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Levi responded, pausing at an intersection. “And given that you probably aren’t interested in going to hell, would your highness be so kind as to give me an _actual_ address?”

Armin’s eyes flitted down to the scrap of paper in his hand, and he managed to read it with no errors the second time. The smaller man nodded, reaching up to run a hand through his hair as he took a right turn. “That, I can do something with.”

Armin, having finally secured the sleeve, sat back in his seat. “Not that I’m complaining, but how do I keep getting you?”

“Firstly,” Levi held up a slim finger. “I’ve only taken you on three times. Secondly,” another finger went up. “I work this area a lot. It’s not my fault brats like you live here.”

Armin opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I just think it’s strange, is all.”

Levi merely shrugged, body relaxing once more as quiet settled over the cab for a few minutes.

“Where do you take your car?”

Levi raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“If it breaks down, or a tire goes flat, et cetera,” Armin clarified. “Where do you take it for repairs?”

“The hell do you care?”

Armin rolled his eyes. “Nothing comes easy for you, does it?”

“If you think it’s strange that I keep picking you up, I think it’s perfectly within my rights to think it’s strange that you ask so many damn questions.”

“Does it bother you _that_ much?”

Levi paused before answering. “Look, most of my passengers just want to get where they’re going. They’re not interested in casual conversation, and they are _certainly_ not interested in where I take this car to get fixed.”

“I’m a mechanic.” Armin shrugged slightly, running his fingers along the leather strip encasing the window. “It’s my way of starting a conversation. I ask people where they take their cars.”

“Well, now I feel special,” Levi deadpanned.

Armin’s lips twitched slightly. “Sorry.”

A slight sigh. “I take my car to Trost.”

“Oh. Are they good?”

“They’re a piece of shit, actually.”

“Oh.” Armin said again, and blinked. “I’m…sorry?”

“Not your problem.”

Armin looked out the window. It wasn’t as if Levi was wrong, however curtly the statement was made. He was clearly not a man interested in pity. Or…much of anything, it seemed.

 “You know,” he began, stubbornly determined to not be cowed into silence. “You’re welcome to bring it to Shinganshina.”

“I’m guessing that’s your company.”

Armin nodded, then remembered that Levi couldn’t see him, and said, “It is.”

“Why would I want to go there? You’re there. I probably would have to pay in answers to questions.”

Armin felt himself smiling again. The short man was strange, and certainly acerbic, but he had an odd sense of humour that presented itself in an interesting way. “I think you pay in money, actually. Although I’m sure they could use your sunshiney disposition.”

Levi snorted again. “Right. I’ll light up their lives.”

Armin grinned, pleased to have gotten a reaction. The cab was slowing down, and he glanced quickly out the window to take in the house before him. Momentarily distracted from his conversation, he leaned against the window frame and stared.

The Springer residence was a small, brown house, with warm red curtains and a door painted an unassuming shade of tan. Armin sat on the edge of his seat, smiling. It didn’t exactly reminisce of Connie, but it looked like a home.

“If you’re done sight-seeing, I’d like to be paid now.” A dry voice brought him back to reality. “In _actual_ money, if you don’t mind.”

The blonde boy rolled his eyes, reaching into his pocket to draw out the fare, and opened the door. Levi drove away without so much as a goodbye, but Armin couldn’t really find it in himself to care as he approached the steps adjacent to the house. When a soft knock yielded no result, he rapped his knuckles against the wooden surface.

After a beat of silence, he could hear muffled voices from what sounded like Connie and some female. Presumably Sasha.

Abruptly, before Armin’s startled eyes, the door was thrown open and his short co-worker bounced out of it. His face lit up as he took in his new guest, and was already pulling Armin inside by the time the blonde boy was able to offer a greeting.

“Nice to see you, man, I’m glad that you were able to make it, especially this late.”

Armin flushed, still comprehending the string of words thrown into sentences. “I’m sorry, if I’ve come late-“

“No, _amigo,_ you totally have it wrong.” Connie waved his hands, while simultaneously leading Armin through their living room. “I had just enough time to get myself into decent shape with minimal yelling from my spouse and make sure the house was in an okay-ish condition for your arrival.”

“It’s a lovely home,” Armin replied, sincerity colouring his tone like the blush in his cheeks. “Very cosy.”

“That was the plan,” Connie nodded, seemingly satisfied.

He turned and knocked on the kitchen door, pausing for a moment before a female voice called, “Are you seriously _bringing him_ in here?!”

Connie grinned and shouldered the door open, letting out a stream of warm light. Armin stayed a foot or so back, nervous about the outcome of this perilous venture.

A young women was cutting up vegetables on a wooden cutting board, chestnut brown hair pulled back into a ponytail with bangs hanging around her face. Despite how irritated she had sounded when phrasing her question, she had a cheerful face with kind, wide eyes.

Wide eyes which were narrowing in fury as Connie bounded through the kitchen, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Armin’s here!”

“Good Lord, I couldn’t tell.” Armin’s lips pulled into a hesitant smile as she moved across the kitchen, shaking his hand. The anger in her face vanished into a sunny smile as she gestured around her, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead. “It’s nice to meet you, Armin. Even if not in the best of circumstances.” The last sentence she tossed, rather than spoke, across the kitchen to her sheepish husband.

“I couldn’t think of a better place,” Armin shook his head, glancing around the small, heated space. “Can I help with dinner?”

Sasha put her hands on her hips, grinning even more fully. “My, what a gentleman. I hope you meant it, because there is a laundry list of things you can help me with while my lazy-ass husband tries to pick off of my cooking.”

Connie squawked behind her, hand immediately snatching itself away from the bowl of…something…that was sitting on the counter. Sasha gave a satisfied smirk, handing Armin a small bundle of napkins. “You can set these out on the table; silverware’s in the drawer.”

The blonde boy nodded, easing his way back out of the kitchen, and heading into the dining room.

-=-=-=-

The Springer household was lively, full of good-natured ribbing, and humour. Armin declared that he had never had roast chicken so good in his life, and Connie’s mouth was too full to say much of anything. Sasha sat across from Connie with a pleased smile, chatting with Armin about a variety of topics ranging from his job to his personal life.

As they moved to the living room later and had some of the Springer’s good ‘company coffee’, Sasha told him about herself. Growing up in the upper part of Colorado, moving down to New York to pursue her job as a seamstress, and then meeting Connie, who kept finding convenient reasons for why his shirts were ripped. Their romance was a short but sweet one, and Armin got the feeling that they had become good friends before becoming something more. Or maybe they were one in the same. Several times he found himself looking into his coffee cup, reflection swimming in the black reflection, and wondering if he could ever have that. A life where it was easy to slip from friends to lovers; to someday own a comfortable home and cook with someone who loved him. His ears felt warm at the thought, which led to several hasty explanations as Connie wondered if he had someone in mind and Sasha clucked about the house being too warm.

All in all, those few hours were some of the best Armin could remember having. He had no words to describe his gratitude, or the reasons therefor, to Connie and Sasha, and the hospitality of their comfortable life.

He had to tear himself away, when it came down to it. There was a letter to his grandfather waiting to be written, and he had something he wanted (needed?) to do, before the evening went too late.

Connie and Sasha waved to him from their porch, not going inside until Armin was safely situated in a cab, hand raised in parting farewell.

“Where to, son?” The cabby, an older man, inquired.

“Do you know the night club, Wall Maria?” Armin inquired, fingers tightly interlocked with each other.

The man nodded, running a hand over the back of his neck as he thought. “Aye. Is that where you’re headed?”

Armin nodded. “If you please.”

The man pulled the car out onto the road without another word, and for a moment Armin felt almost disappointed that he hadn’t gotten the younger, grumpier cabby that he found strangely easy to talk to. There was nothing interesting about this driver; nothing that stuck out. Certainly no air of sadness that pervaded the air much more thickly than any cigarette smoke.

It felt like ages to Armin before they arrived, but the reality of only a few minutes significantly lessened his fare. He paid the cabby quickly, probably giving him more than what was even owed, but in too much of a rush to care. The thud of his footsteps up the stairs reminded him of earlier that day, and he slowed to a walk as he neared the top.

The club was still going; live music was playing again, and Armin recognised several of the employees. There was that irritated looking man Oluo, whose name he had heard called during one of the times he’d come, and was that Petra at the bar? There was no sign of Eren, and Armin began to wonder if he was even working that night as he tentatively approached the red-headed girl in front of him.

She glanced up, wiping a glass clean, and raised her eyebrows. “Armin, right?”

He nodded. “I was looking for Eren.”

A flash of something crossed over her face, but it was gone before he could identify the glance.

“He isn’t well, so he’s not here tonight,” she replied, apologetic. “I can give him a message or something, though, if you want.”

“Is it okay for me to write it down?”

Petra nodded, reaching under the counter to fish out some of the paper pads with which the staff wrote down orders on. A pencil followed soon after that, and Armin took a moment to frame his thoughts before bearing down on the countertop and beginning to write.

_I’m sorry you weren’t there in person for me to tell you this, but I hope it’ll work. All I know right now is that you are very beautiful, and I am very scared. Scared of a lot of things that I can’t control, but there is one thing I thought of tonight while having dinner with some very new friends of mine. If you still want to do this, or if you even want to try, then I don’t want to go into it blind. I want to be your friend, too; I want to know what you like and what you know and what you want to do. Is that okay? Please say it is, because I don’t think I’m getting out of this any time soon._

_-Armin_

He folded up the piece of paper and flexed his cramped wrist as he handed it to the shorter girl, voice awash with sincerity. “Thank you. Please tell him I hope he feels better soon.”

Petra nodded, that odd look in her eyes as she took the small note, tucking it into the corner of her dress. “See you soon, Armin.”

He nodded, moving back towards the entrance, already feeling the exhaustion from his day.

There was something about the way Petra said the words that carried an air of finality.

-=-=-=-

Armin was eating breakfast the next morning with Alice when Joseph brought the post in. he flicked through a few letters, then blinked and handed one to Armin. “’S for you.”

Blue eyes widened in curiosity as he took it, breaking through the thin laminated seal and pulling out the yellow, inexpensive paper.

In a slightly messy scrawl he hadn’t seen before, he read the following words:

_my mom told me to fall in love with my best friend. i told you before-i want to know everything about you. i'll see you soon._

_-E_

Through the pulse beating blinding starlight through his veins, Armin leaned back in his chair, the small letter crumpled in his hand, resting over his chest.

-=-=-=-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -For anyone who's asking about who Erwin was on the phone with, that'll be explained. I'm actually thinking of writing another one-shot for that scene, to be posted at the right time. :)
> 
> -I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)
> 
> -I couldn't find any period-appropriate houses, but here's one I imagined as the Springles home: [Here](http://graphics8.nytimes.com/images/2008/05/04/realestate/600-livi-span.jpg)
> 
> -Thank you all again for your feedback and kindness!


	8. Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I’ve been selfish, he realised. I’m always so focussed on my own fear; so worried about burdening people with my problems, that it never occurred to me to ask others if they had any of their own. How many opportunities I’ve missed with Jean because of my own fear; how many things I could have done if I’d paid attention to someone else. Other than Eren, he added quickly, before his mind reproved him. In the future, I will be more open. I want to learn about the lives of these other people, and not just dwell on my own.

-=-=-=-

_“Living with integrity means: Not settling for less than what you know you deserve in your relationships. Asking for what you want and need from others. Speaking your truth, even though it might create conflict or tension. Behaving in ways that are in harmony with your personal values. Making choices based on what you believe, and not what others believe.”_

_― Barbara De Angelis_

-=-=-=-

_Rghhhhhh! Chugchugchug…_

“Is it _still_ not starting?” Armin poked his head out from underneath the Buick, hair matted with sweat.

Jean pressed his foot to the useless accelerator, repeatedly trying and failing to start the automobile. “It’s completely dead,” he called, sticking his head out the window.

Armin sighed, pushing himself back underneath to once again begin the attempt. “Thanks for keeping watch up there, at least.” His voice sounded echoic and vaguely tired in his own ears.

“No problem. Easiest job I’ve had in weeks,” Jean responded, and if Armin could tell that he was just being kind, it didn’t make the sentiment any less helpful.

The car that they were currently trying in vain to fix was one owned by a young man who was foreign to the concept of ‘All things in moderation’, and had worn out the engine through repeated and continual instances of going too quickly and not getting the engine checked often enough.  Now, Armin and Jean were forced to pay the price as hopes of mending the machine at all dwindled like the dying flame of a candle. In his heart of hearts, Armin was quite certain that Jean had given up, and that he should probably quit as well. But a small, stubbornly determined part of him had decided at some point that one way or another, he was going to make it work. Erwin had stopped by yesterday to tell him that he was impressed with the work they had done, and Armin was burning to hear the same sort of praise from the owner of the vehicle’s lips.

Not that, given the state of the car, their opinion was worth much. But it was the mindset he had adopted, nonetheless.

“Hey, Armin?” Jean had somehow partially clambered out the window, and was hanging upside down looking at the smaller boy like a skinny monkey.

Armin’s brow furrowed, listening for the phantom purr of an engine. “Yes, Jean?”

“You said you didn’t have anyone special, right?”

His hands stilled. “Right. And neither do you.”

Jean’s lips pulled into a grin after a moment’s pause. “So…I was thinkin’.”

“No, Jean, I will not marry you.” Armin deadpanned.

“Shut up.” The taller boy’s ears went red, which was a comical sight, given his current position. “I was going to say that I have someone for you to go out with.”

Armin’s heart felt a little too fast, breath a little stilted. “Who?”

“Annie Leonhardt.”

“The scary receptionist?”

“Well, when you put it that way…”

Armin smiled thinly. “I don’t really date, Jean.”

“I’ve never been to Wall Maria, and you need to get out more. It’s an excellent setup.”

Armin frowned, hands working, mostly to help occupy his mind. “I have too much work to do.”

“Then why do you find time to go every week?” Jean pressed.

Armin’s mouth was dry as dust. “It’s only once a week.”

“So just take Annie and I with you this time!”

“Jean!” Armin’s head jerked up, nearly slamming it into the frame, hand tightening around his screwdriver.

The older boy straightened out his position, quiet for a few moments as his slender fingers fiddled with the steering wheel.

After about five minutes of awkward nothingness, Armin sighed and fixed his eyes on the hood of the car. “If you will let me finish this car in peace, you can come along.”

Jean’s face brightened, (though Armin could not see it), lips pulling into a sunny grin as he nodded enthusiastically. “It’s a deal.”

Armin smiled back wearily, moving out from underneath the car to breathe in some fresher air. The car still refused to start, but there was no point suffocating in the attempt.

“Jean?” His voice was quiet, subdued.

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever done something that everyone thought was wrong, except for you?”

Jean was quiet for a beat, confusion lacing his tone when he replied. “Like what?”

Armin shrugged. “Like anything.”

“Well…when I was a kid, my mother used to tell me not to swear at kids who threw rocks at me. She said it was wrong, because they didn’t know any better, but I did.”

“And?” Armin glanced up at him.

Jean’s face was calm. “I disagreed.”

“What?”

“I thought it was perfectly fair. If they were going to throw rocks, I had every right to call them weak-ass grundies.”

“That is a terrible example, Jean.”

The older boy laughed, leaning back in the front seat. “Sorry. I’m a hopeless cause.”

 Armin smiled back faintly, looking down at his greasy hands. “I guess I’d better wash if I’m going to talk to a lady,” he mumbled, striding toward the front doors.

Jean watched him go, expression curious in the morning light, as the blonde boy went inside.

-=-=-=-

Armin approached slowly, trying to keep his shoulders straight and his stride steady. He only stopped when directly in front of Annie’s desk, resisting the urge to let his clean hands twist together.

It took a moment before the blonde receptionist looked up, cool blue eyes sweeping over Armin with an interest that made him feel like a specimen to be dissected.

“Can I help you?” Her voice, thought quiet, was clipped and business-like.

Armin drew in a breath, nodding. “I had something to ask you.”

“Then why haven’t you asked?” Annie’s tone went flat.

The boy coloured slightly. “To be frank, you aren’t exactly a welcoming individual.”

For the first time, a flicker of interest passed over Annie’s face. She leaned forward, a vaguely serpentine smile curling around her pale lips. She said nothing, which Armin took as a sign to continue.

“Would you like to go with Jean and I to Wall Maria tonight…?”

Annie didn’t even blink. “The nightclub?”

Armin nodded, feeling awkward and out of his depth. He might have no experience making romantic advancements with the gender he preferred, but he had no more to speak of in regards to women. His history with relationships was, to say the least, lacking.

“Why is Jean coming?” Annie’s head bent as she began sorting through a pile of papers on her desk, and Armin got the keen sensation that she was, once again, losing interest. A rebellious part of him wanted the unfriendly receptionist to just say No so that he could leave, but he refrained from expressing that thought.

“He’s never been there before, and I guess he doesn’t want to go by himself,” he explained instead.

Annie made no verbal response, electing rather to raise her eyebrows.

“He also thinks I don’t get out enough,” Armin added, teeth gritted.

Now the smile returned. “That’s pretty nervy of you, kid.”

Armin blinked. “What?”

“I’ll go. This once.”

Armin managed a half-hearted smile. Unlikableness aside, it wasn’t her fault that he didn’t find himself attracted to her. The least he could do was be polite and show her a nice time. “I’ll pick you up at Seven, then?”

“Fine. But don’t be late; the landlord owns dogs and he sets them if someone tries to come in without his previous knowledge.”

Armin swallowed audibly, standing unmoving as the blonde woman scribbled down an address, handing it to him with a perfectly manicured hand. Armin resisted the impulse to cast his gaze at the floor as he took it, bowing slightly and moving hastily towards the exit. He could sense her eyes on his back as he went out, resisting the urge to childishly stomp his feet for quailing so much in her presence. The mild urge to strangle Jean was also rising, and it was with difficulty that he didn’t rip the door off its hinges at it slammed shut with its customary noise, announcing his arrival.

Jean’s head poked up, a smudge of grease on his forehead. “How’d it go?”

“Awful.”

“What’d she say?”

“She said Yes.”

“But that’s great!”

Armin picked up a wrench, glaring. “Sure, Jean. You know, I really think Annie missed her calling, being a receptionist and all. She isn’t _receptive_ at all, and would, in my mind, make a far better interrogator.”

Jean grinned. “Damn. She really riled you up that much? I thought only I had that talent.”

Armin glanced down at the wrench in his hand, then at Jean’s head, and the strange-haired boy slunk back to the cover of his vehicle.

“Next time, _you_ can ask her out,” Armin said coldly, moving to the Cadillac that was shining innocently with a brightness that made his head ache.

Jean made no answer. Whether it was because he didn’t hear, or didn’t choose to answer, Armin didn’t know. And at the moment, he didn’t care, either. He slid underneath the car, taking a deep breath of calming air, and focussed on his task.

Nothing diverted one from romantic thoughts quite like the smell of axel grease.

-=-=-=-

Evening found Armin alone, twisting his hands, outside the door of an apartment which he had never visited before. Lights glowed from a few of the rooms, but as Annie had never given him the floor upon which she lived, he was forced to wait below. A pair of grey mastiffs growled softly from their doghouse, the chains around their necks somehow not succeeding in giving him comfort.

He started violently when a bi-coloured head popped out from the car window, calling out to him. “Is she coming yet?”

Armin flushed, rolling his eyes. “No, Jean. Get back inside the cab.”

“Why don’t you just go knock?” The lanky boy inquired, ignoring his last statement.

“She didn’t give me her floor number,” Armin replied, exasperation colouring his tone. “Please stop asking me questions I have no answers to.”

Jean at least looked a little apologetic at that, opening the door with a muffled word to the cab driver and climbing out to stand next to Armin. He laid a hand on the shorter boy’s shoulder, the gesture one of reassurance. “She’ll come, Armin. And if she doesn’t, it’s not like we can’t have fun without her.”

The blonde boy at his side resisted the urges to wipe a hand over his face, violently kick the grass, or scream loudly.

 _It’s just one night,_ he reminded himself, tolerating Jean’s touch.

But all he said was, “Next time, you’re asking her out.”

“You said that before,” Jean reminded him, completely unruffled.

A door upstairs opened and closed, followed by a brief silence, and then the front door opening. From what he could make out in the evening light, there was a smear of blonde hair and blue dress against the twilight, and it was moving towards them.

“There you go!” Jean’s face spread into a grin, fingers ruffling Armin’s hair as he moved back towards the cab. “I will see you shortly.”

Armin smiled beatifically, waiting until Annie had gotten within a few feet of him before holding out a hand. “You look nice.”

It wasn’t a lie; the dress she wore set off the pale blue of her eyes, and though her hands might have reminded him slightly of talons, there was not a callous or rough patch on them as she shook his offered one. In a moment of blind nervousness, Armin wondered why he’d even wanted to shake hands before going on a date.

Fortunately for him, the blonde girl had other thoughts in mind. “Was that Jean I saw clambering back into the car?”

Armin nodded, smiling slightly. “He didn’t feel quite up to saying Hello.”

Her lips pursed, turning to the car where a dark shape was outlined against the window.

“Well, _this_ will be a fun drive.” She said, tone honey sweet.

Armin shivered.

-=-=-=-

The drive was, at least, less tense than Armin had been expecting. Annie and Jean actually _could_ hold a conversation, to his surprise, and Armin sat sandwiched between them in relative blissful silence. His thoughts had begun to stray again, going too fast, making him want to question everything that had led up to the moment and the moments he knew would follow.

Jean gave his attention to the window as they drew closer, leaving the cab in quiet as he pressed his hands against the glass and left accidental patterns in the glass from his warm breath.

Wall Maria was clearly having another busy night, judging by the cars pulled up in the lot. Armin paid the cabby while Jean helped Annie out, heading towards the door with irascible curiosity. Annie’s pale eyes took in the dim lighting and quiet music coming from upstairs, and Armin was left unable to determine whether she liked or hated whatever she saw.

“Thought it’d be bigger,” was Jean’s only comment.

The door shut behind them, casting a helpful shadow over the redness of Armin’s cheeks. The lights were flickering above from the electric lighting, the air warm and almost languid from the soft breeze that brushed over his skin, slipping through the cracks in the door from their entrance.

Jean moved towards the staircase some few feet away, face pulled into a grin as he turned to his two companions. “C’mon, I want to dance.”

Armin smiled then, tension relaxing as he offered Annie a hand and went up the lazily spiralling staircase towards the main area upstairs.

“How old is this place?” Jean inquired, eyeing the rust on one of the window frames dubiously.

“I heard that the building is fairly old,” Armin replied thoughtfully. “But I don’t think the actual bar is more than ten years or so.”

“Are they always this busy?” The question, directed from Annie, was flat.

Armin paused at the top of the staircase, something ridiculously _proud_ flooding through him as he took in the sight of the people around the bar, dancing on the stage area, or just sitting in chairs having conversations. It looked comforting, and, well…peaceful.

He didn’t think he’d ever felt so at ease before, coming here.

Annie sauntered forward, clearly entirely undaunted by the presence of so many people. “What kind of drinks do they serve here?” She tossed over one blue-clad shoulder.

“All kinds,” Armin informed. “But I especially liked their gin and tonic. Which is saying something, given that I barely drink.”

Jean snorted, cuffing him on the arm as he moved forward. “You’ve got to start living more, squirt.”

Armin flushed, rolling his eyes as he followed behind them. “I’m not a _squirt,_ ” he mumbled.

Neither of the people in front heard him.

-=-=-=-

The peace he’d felt earlier receded somewhat as Armin took a seat at the bar, after making sure that Annie was comfortably situated. (He’d left Jean to fend for himself after the Squirt comment.) He couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking around the room, searching for something whether he wanted them to or not. And it wasn’t like he wasn’t aware of what, or _who,_ he was looking for, but the fear of being obvious in his efforts bothered him. When the bartender handed him a glass of ice water he was able to give his attention to that, but a nagging portion of his mind reminded him that he should be attending to his date, and he turned to Annie.

“What do you usually do in the evening?” He inquired, noting the boredom with which Annie seemed to be assessing anything. In a small way, it stung; it might not be the classiest establishment, but it was _his_ place to go to, and she might be kind enough to look a _little_ interested.

She turned to look at him, considering for a few moments before answering. “I write, sometimes. Or play chess if I have company.”

“What kind of things do you write?”

For the first time, the hint of a wry smile appeared in the corners of his companion’s lips. “Children’s stories.”

Armin blinked. “Would I want to be those children?”

“I doubt it.”

“You guys have a _ton_ of stuff.” Jean’s incredulous statement made Armin’s head turn, and he discovered the tousle-headed boy conversing with a slender girl, dark hair tied back from her face. A faint memory surfaced in Armin’s mind; Petra referring to the girl before. _Mina._ She smiled and pointed to the top of a chalkboard. “I know, it’s amazing! I think we make a new drink almost every day.”

“Who creates them all?” Jean wondered, amber eyes wide.

Mina grinned. “We take flavour suggestions from our patrons, and then make drinks based around them. It’s quite fun, actually, or would be if I wanted to drink any of them,” she added with a smile.

“You’d get along well with Armin, over there,” Jean noted, gesturing to where Armin is watching. “He’s a chronic lightweight.”

“By choice!” Armin interjected, flushing.

Jean grinned at him, waving. “Can you believe this guy? Won’t even touch a beer, for fear of ruining his work ethic.”

Even Annie smiled.

-=-=-=-

It was some twenty minutes later when Armin caught sight of a familiar face. He’d gotten so wrapped up in talking with Annie about work, and Jean about the innate properties of alcohol, that Eren had managed to slip from his mind. But as soon as he saw the brunet appearing from out the door clearly marked **Staff Only** , his old self-consciousness had returned. Trying hard not to stare, he turned his attention back to Annie, who was coolly reminding Jean that he was not allowed to become a movie star just so that he could drive faster. A small smile came to his lips at the taller boy’s indignant rejoinder, and his eyes flicked back over to where Eren had been.

The other boy was looking at Annie, wiping out a glass with an old-looking white cloth, green eyes confused. Armin felt his cheeks go warm, coughing into his fist.

Annie turned around in her seat. “Is the air in here too warm for you?”

“What?”

“Your cheeks,” she informed, patting the left offending feature with a slender hand. “They’re quite red. Do you need some fresh air?”

Armin darted his eyes over to Eren again, where the other boy was still methodically wiping out the long-dried glass, full lips pulled in a thin line.

“That might be good,” he agreed, nodding his head and slipping off his stool. “Be back in a few minutes.”

Hoping to God that Eren would follow, he headed towards the back door, (the one where a memory still held fast like roots in his brain) past the bathroom and finally outside. Feet light, he hurried down the slightly rickety outdoor staircase to the ground, and ducked underneath its shadows, breath coming fast and heartbeat loud in his own ears.

A few moments later, he heard the door clang open and shut, and the tread of heavy steps down the stairs. In the dim light, Armin could make out Eren’s general facial features, and his heart jumped into his throat.

“Eren!” He hissed.

The other boy jerked around, seemingly shocked at finding Armin under such a questionable spot, but he went down the rest of the stairs anyway and rounded the corner. Abruptly, they were facing each other.

“Eren.” The word was a breath on Armin’s lips, shakily exhaled. Probably smelled like alcohol fumes and desperation.

“Armin. Who’s that girl?” Eren’s tone conveyed no anger, but there was a definite note of something more than friendly curiosity. Jealousy, most likely.

“The receptionist from the place where I work,” Armin answered.

“Did she ask you to come here with her?”

Armin blinked. “What? No. She didn’t even know it existed.”

“So you asked her.” Eren’s voice was low.

Slender fingers pushed his blonde hair back as Armin’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Jean-the mechanic who works with me, that I told you about?-He said I didn’t get out enough.”

Eren frowned. “And you were just…okay with that?”

Armin shrugged. “Why not? There’s no harm in it; she’s pretty and intelligent, if a little scary.”

“Are you going to see her again?”

Armin sighed. “Maybe? I don’t know. Why?”

 “You said you wanted to learn how to be friends. Does that mean bringing girls here to somehow prove it?” Eren’s eyes were sharp against the light, shadows casting dramatic slashes over his cheekbones.

“It was Jean’s idea, Eren!” Armin was growing increasingly more frustrated as the conversation went on. “What was I supposed to say-‘I’m seeing a barkeep I met here’?”

Eren frowned, clearly not satisfied. “He shouldn’t have forced you to do anything.”

“He was just trying to be my _friend_. Christ knows I don’t have a surplus of those,” Armin’s tone twisted bitterly on the last part of his sentence, and the hurt in Eren’s eyes made him regret it a little. But he was being such an _ass…_

Betraying his expectations, Eren seemed to deflate, leaning against the counter and scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled. It’s not your fault.”

 _Damn right,_ Armin bit the words back, shame flooding through his mind. That was just fighting fire with fire, and he was better than that. Not to imply that _Eren_ wasn’t, but-

Fighting the urge to groan in frustration, Armin glanced down at his hands, laced together and twisting slightly. “I am trying- _so hard_ -for you.” His voice shook on the last few words, and he cursed himself inwardly. “Please don’t make me regret this decision.”

Eren’s deflation seemed to only implode further, guilt curling around his lips and the corners of his eyes. His head bent, unable to meet Armin’s own gaze as he folded his arms. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, again. “I’m not, uh, I’m not used to this kind of thing.”

 _What are you used to, then?_ Perhaps that inquiry was best not left internalised. The thought that other people had done this, had seen Eren in the shadows of a night club stairway, seen the brightness of his eyes in the dim glow of electric lights, watched his face go red when a statement affected him, twisted further at the knot in his chest.

Armin huffed, irritation fading into exasperation and then something like fondness as he laid a hand on the other boy’s shoulder. “You’re a very emotional person, Eren. And if it’s going to turn into raging jealousy every time I come here with someone, then that’s not a negotiable issue I’ll have to deal with.” His tone was still serious, but there was fondness in his posture as he smoothed his hands over Eren’s strong shoulders. “I _enjoy_ seeing you passionate about things. But not…not like this.”

The taller boy nodded, brushing the dark hair out of his eyes as he straightened his posture. “I know. And I’ll try to not be such an idiot in the future.”

Armin smiled. “You’ll always be a bit of an idiot, Eren; you can’t help it. But I’ll tolerate it, as long as you’ll let me.”

Eren sighed, looking very much like a kicked puppy. “Just _tolerate_ it?”

 Armin smiled and kissed his temple, the gesture strikingly familiar regardless of the fact that it was the first time he’d done it. “Maybe think it’s just the slightest bit endearing.”

A rosy flush spread over the taller boy’s tanned cheeks, embarrassment mixed with tentative happiness colouring his face. “Oh.”

There was a beat of a pause, made irrelevant by the closeness between them, by the heat emanating from their skin, the pretty flush on Eren’s handsome face…

“Did you mean what you said? That you’ll stay?”

Armin glanced around, surprise colouring his tone. “Is there somewhere else for me to be?”

Eren was silent for a moment, to the point of where Armin was wondering if he’d said something wrong. His heart rate sped up again, hands threatening to twist together as he forced them behind his back. “I-I mean, I didn’t mean to…”

Eren looked up at him, green eyes stormy. “I think you’re the only one to have said that to me.”

Armin swallowed, throat tight. He opened his mouth to make a reply, but the words never came as he was swallowed in a hug, Eren’s warm arms surrounding him better than any blanket. The blonde boy froze for only a moment before relaxing into it, cheek pressed against his chest as his slender fingers curled in the fabric covering Eren’s back.

“I love you.” Eren’s voice was a murmur.

Armin’s breath stuttered and went out then, any sort of reaction he might have had sucked into the aching, desolate emptiness that filled his chest.

“That isn’t enough, Eren.” The words scraped out of the column of his throat, sharp as knives, and just as dangerous. He sounded exactly as he felt-so, so weary. Made sense, really; considering that he had gone from elation to despair in the space of a few moments. “It doesn’t…doesn’t _fix_ anything.”

The rest of the thought went unspoken, but they both knew the gravity behind it. _Your love will never be enough for us to stay together, no matter how hard we try, sooner or later the breaking point is going to come, and I’m scared, I’m so, so scared-_

“I’m still not sorry.” Eren’s tone was muffled as he rested his chin in the soft hair on the top of Armin’s head. “I understand, but whatever happens, I’m not going to regret you.”

The final part of his sentence came out almost as a whisper, making a few silken blonde hairs drift upwards lazily on a puff of air before settling back down. “Or anything that I do with you.”

Armin shivered, a heavy guilt pressing into his chest. He should say the words back, he should _tell_ Eren and give him the same comfort, the same damnation. But somehow, they wouldn’t come. It didn’t feel right, the feeling was there but the words were sluggish and too early.

So Armin bit his tongue, and promised himself that he’d say the words twice for every time he held them back, some day.

“I should go,” he breathed, regret coating his tone like thick tar.

Eren nodded, letting him go, albeit reluctantly. “When will you be back?”

“I’m not sure. Soon, I hope. I don’t think Annie was impressed with this place, so I doubt she’ll be coming back.”

Eren laughed softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he steered Armin towards the hallway. “Shame. I hear that the staff are quite charming.”

“I seem to remember making a similar statement at some point,” Armin responded, the beginnings of a smile forming as he hurried, out of the shadows, and back into the light.

Annie was still sitting at the bar, her gin and tonic almost gone, as Armin slid into the barstool next to her, looking around the room. “Where’s Jean?”

“He bailed,” was the blunt response. “He said he had to attend to something; I’m guessing it was urgent.”

Armin’s brow furrowed. “I hope he’s alright.”

Annie shrugged, glancing up at him through lazy blue eyes. For a moment, Armin caught a flash of the ruthless intelligence that she kept so well concealed, but was somehow always there nonetheless. “I’m certain he will be.”

“Are you interested in doing anything else here?” He inquired, attempting to lighten the atmosphere.

Annie shook her head, drained her glass, and stood. “I have my laundry to do when I get home, so I’d better go. Thanks, anyway.”

Armin blinked, finding it slightly surreal to imagine Annie doing anything as mundane as housework. “It was no trouble. Thank you for coming with me.”

She smiled, which only served to disorient Armin more, but a moment later it was gone, as she brushed a loose thread off her dress. “Are you taking me or not?”

Armin flushed, moving to open the door for her as they went down the stairs. “Of course. Sorry.”

“Must be hard to be so polite sometimes,” Annie noted, descending.

Armin shrugged, watching the smooth wood of the railing melt under his hands as he followed. “I do my best.”

Annie made a humming noise, waiting for him at the door until Armin had caught up, before going outside and hailing a cab.

“I hope you had a nice time,” Armin turned to glance at her once they were settled inside, sincerity evident. “I’m sure it’s not the nicest place you’ve ever been to, but I’m very fond of it.”

Annie was quiet for a few moments. At first, Armin thought he might have offended her. Then it occurred to him that she was thinking through her answer.

“Nobody has asked me on a date in a long time,” her voice was unusually quiet, when she finally made it. “That doesn’t bother me, because I don’t see much of a point to them, but you were kind enough to ask me out. I know that Jean forced you.”

Armin went red and tried to stutter out an answer, but she held up a hand. “It doesn’t bother me. So, thanks for taking me. It was…nicer…going there with someone, instead of to a nicer place by myself.”

Armin raised an eyebrow. “You seem like you enjoy being alone.”

She shrugged. “Everyone has a breaking point.”

The rest of the drive was quiet as Armin mulled over her words; _breaking point._ It seemed like strong language from such a self-assured person, but maybe…he let out a tiny, silent sigh as his blue eyes fastened on a street lamp.

 _I’ve been selfish,_ he realised. _I’m always so focussed on my own fear; so worried about burdening people with my problems, that it never occurred to me to ask others if they had any of their own. How many opportunities I’ve missed with Jean because of my own fear; how many things I could have done if I’d paid attention to someone else. Other than Eren,_ he added quickly, before his mind reproved him. _In the future, I will be more open. I want to learn about the lives of these other people, and not just dwell on my own._ Fist tightening with his mental declaration, he jolted slightly as the cab stopped. Annie was looking at him with an interested expression, a beat too long to be casual before she opened the door for herself and waited for Armin to instruct the cabby.

As he walked her up to the door, Annie laid a hand on the doorknob and looked at him. “See you tomorrow.”

Armin nodded, smiling as he turned to head back. “Of course.”

“And tell Jean not to skip out next time, squirt,” she tossed over her shoulder, and shut the door.

Armin rolled his eyes as he moved back towards the cab, directing him to his own apartment and settling into the leather seat.

 _Perhaps, I should not make a habit of judging appearances,_ he thought wryly, smiling at nothing.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Thank you all for waiting! As a reward, here's an extra long chapter-5,000+ words. :D
> 
> 2\. I have a [Tumblr](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com)


	9. Overcome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Growing up as a child, there were a lot of things Armin could take for granted. Meals every day, clothes on his back, someone being there to take care of him. But he had never been able to predict or decide if anyone cared enough to stay after he no longer needed care; when he was old enough to tie his own tie and order a beer by himself. Between parents who had died and a limited number of friends, the fear of being left alone had been allowed to grow like a cancer in his subconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, guys. I have been gone awhile. BUT I have an excuse; I had my international speech and debate tournament which was a week long, and then I stayed with some extended family for a day or two. I assure you that rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.  
> This chapter is the longest one so far (7,000+ words) and I am not sure as to whether I'm happy with it or not. But I wrote a lot of it on the road and there might be a few mistakes, so bear with me.  
> Okay. Read on!

-=-=-=-=-

Chapter Nine

_“Thinking will not overcome fear, but action will.”_

_-W. Clement Stone_

-=-=-=-

Armin woke up slowly. The morning was unusually cool outside, and he felt blissfully warm underneath his coverlet. Below, he could hear Alice pottering around getting out supplies for breakfast. Taking a few moments to lie still in bed and savour the last bit of quiet before the noise of the day really started up, he stared at the ceiling and yawned.

There were a number of things on his mind, none of them particularly pressing, but all itching to be answered. The thing that probably had the top spot in the hierarchy, however, was Jean. Why had he left early last night?

Annie had said that he had something important to attend to. Important enough to just leave without so much as a goodbye? But Armin had been gone for quite a while…so maybe it just hadn’t been worth it to wait.

Shrugging his shoulders, he slid out of bed, searching for the clothes he’d hung up last night. His reflection stared at him, pale and uncertain-looking. Maybe it knew something he didn’t, Armin considered idly as he straightened his shirt collar. The morning sunlight cast over his hair made it look like pale flames.

-=-=-=-

After breakfast with Alice and Joseph Armin grabbed his bag and headed to work, the warmth of the morning already letting him know that it was going to be a hot day. Letting out a slight sigh, he paid the cabby and stepped out onto the sidewalk outside of work.

Passing through the building, he was greeted by Connie hanging around Annie’s desk and a disgruntled looking Annie. Erwin was in the main room, speaking to two other employees. Jean was nowhere to be seen, and Armin guessed he had already gotten to the yard.

His suspicion was confirmed when he saw a familiar head of ash-blonde hair bent over the hood of a car, elbow deep in grease and parts.

“Morning, Jean,” he greeted, reaching for his grease rag.

The other boy glanced up at him and gave a brief nod. “Mornin’.”

“Sorry you had to leave early,” Armin continued, glancing down at his list and searching for the first car.

Jean shrugged, not answering. His nimble fingers moved through parts like a weaver uses a shuttle; quick and familiar. Distracted.

Armin shrugged to himself, going across the yard to begin work, choosing not to pursue the subject. The yard was oddly silent, devoid of their usual banter as both men worked on their separate vehicles.

Twenty minutes later, Armin glanced up, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Say, Jean, do you see my water bottle up there?”

“No.”

“You didn’t…even look up.”

Sighing, Jean glanced up, gave a half-assed look around the yard. “Still no.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Armin wondered, sitting back on his heels. “Did you not sleep well?”

“I slept fine.” Jean’s tone was flat.

Armin ducked his head, surprised at his sharpness. “Sorry.”

The taller boy just grunted and continued working. Uncomfortable silence settled like dust over the two of them and the space which they occupied. Armin struggled vainly to find the words to frame the question he wanted to ask. _What did I do wrong?_ But none fit quite right, and so like a mute he sat, half-heartedly fixing the radiator of a Cadillac that probably didn’t even need to be mended. Jean worked in equal silence across from him, face set in a stony glare as if he wanted to melt the metal with the heat of his gaze.

Jean had this thing about him, Armin had noticed. When something affected him slightly; made him a little irritated, a bit excited, a little bit of whatever else, he wouldn’t shut up about it. Armin had heard him talk for ten minutes about the idiocy of lead pencils without pause. But when something _really_ got to him; made him deeply happy, hugely unhappy, unbearably angry, he was silent. It was like he had locked the emotion away in himself and wouldn’t let anyone see inside. It hurt a little, sometimes, but Armin respected his need for space when it happened and waited until it blew over. Usually, Jean relaxed back into his usual self after a day or so, tops.

But the Jean that worked doggedly through that morning and smouldered away with all the energy of a furnace, was unlike one that he had seen before. He snapped out replies; his attitude, normally so kind towards Armin, was acrid and brief. Beyond feeling confused, by the end of the morning Armin was ready to pull his hair out. He _needed_ Jean’s help, and like this there was no way for them to communicate or accomplish what needed to be done. He had never managed to repair the car from before, and although the rational part of him knew that that wasn’t his fault, the disappointment in Erwin’s eyes when Armin had to give his progress report alone was enough to drive him to never let it happen again.

By lunchtime they had only finished two cars, and Armin was done dealing silently. As Jean went to grab his lunch bag he marched forward slender hands clenched in fists. “Jean?”

The older boy whipped around, something like guilt flashing over his face before the scowl settled over it again. “What?”

“You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong-and I know something _is-_ but I need you to tell me what you need so that we can work.” Armin resisted the urge to stamp his foot. “We’ve gotten next to nothing done and I _need_ your help.”

Jean was gripping his wrench so tightly that his knuckles were turning white. “It’s none of your business.”

“I know that you have the right to your privacy, Jean,” Armin replied, forcibly composing himself. “But we won’t get anything done if we keep going like this.” Perhaps the subtle _we_ instead of _I_ and _you_ might help him on some subconscious level.

“What, you mean you won’t get your precious cars fixed?” Jean’s mouth twisted into a sneer, but to Armin it looked almost as if he was on the brink of tears. Somehow it managed to calm him.

“It’s our job to fix these cars,” he pointed out, in a much milder tone. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but the job you’re being paid for shouldn’t be a burden.”

_Burden._

The moment the word left his mouth, Jean seemed to deflate. He practically curled in on himself, wrench dropping to the ground as he moved towards the back door. It was like watching an explosion in reverse, the way his face paled and his slender hands shook like leaves.

Armin took a step after him, one hand raised as if in entreaty. “Jean-!”

“I need to go for the afternoon. The day.” Jean paused at the door, leaning against the wood like he had suddenly aged twenty years. His already white face looked like chalk.

Too stunned for words, Armin let him go, cringing at the slap of metal against old wood. The yard felt empty and silent, the whispers of desperation and frustration lingering like a bad taste in stale air.

Turning back around, the young mechanic ran a hand through his hair, blue eyes straying to the clipboard lying forgotten on the ground. Still too many cars left, too many boxes left unchecked. Gritting his teeth, he strode towards the innocent-looking list, scooping it off the dirt and scanning it.

“If Jean won’t help me,” he muttered. “Then I’ll help myself.”

-=-=-=-=-

He should have seen it coming; he really should. The afternoon was wearing on and the heat was washing over everything in slow, sweaty waves. The Dusenberg without wheels was held up by an already too-old frame, and Armin had been dreaming of the time when they could afford to replace it.

So, naturally, the day it collapsed was the day it had someone underneath it.

Armin was engrossed in the brakes above him, wrench clutched in his right hand getting slick with sweat and his left holding himself steady. Groaning noises emanated from the metal, complaining loudly as he stubbornly twisted and tightened.

“These brake pads aren’t going anywhere anytime soon,” he mumbled, noise sounding strange and echoic in his own ears underneath the vehicle.

He was by no means incorrect. But days after, he’d reflect on that statement and think to himself _I wasn’t going anywhere, either._

 A creaking noise from the opposite end of the car made him pause briefly; the vehicle wasn’t on and no one else was outside. Probably just the car settling. With a shrug, he bent his head back again, blowing sweaty blonde hair out of his eyes and squinting.

With a terrifying creaky noise, the farthest end of the frame suddenly began to groan again, loud and insistent. In the split second it took Armin to whip his head up, the frame upon which the car was supported was already giving out, the car sliding forward with terrifying steadiness.

A loud cry ripped out of Armin’s throat as he vainly tried to struggle backwards, out from underneath the car, still lying on the wheeled dolly. The back of the car was coming down full force now, putting too much weight on the front of the old support frame and bending the metal. Armin could see it, but even more importantly he could _hear_ it-the twisting sound of old iron caving and becoming bent into unnatural, deadly shapes.

The free space underneath the car was rapidly becoming smaller, Armin’s only way out blocked by the raised edge of the dolly. Dimly, in his panicked state, he could make out the dirt of the ground; the heat shimmering on the metal fence. Gulping in air and feeling his heart ratchet up in beats of ten, he managed to find his voice.

“Jean!”

A vain cry. Wherever he had gone, the older boy was gone, and Armin’s desperation began to take true hold as he shouted again. “Help! Connie!” His throat felt like it was closing up. “ _Somebody please help me!”_

The space between his face and the car was now less than six inches; the frame finally caving as the weight of the car continually bore down on it. The only thing between hundreds of pounds of metal and Armin was the raised edge of the dolly and the last, feeble part of the front frame on either side of himself.

“Eren,” he whispered, eyes squeezing shut, panic hiking up a state of near-delirium. He could hear the front of the frame giving its deathly resonance, the silence in between their own condemnation.

_I am going to die._

Metal scraping against metal, frame giving against a greater mass, Armin shuddered at the noise and slid his hands up in the narrow space to cover his eyes.

The crushing weight never came. Instead, there were voices shouting, footsteps kicking up dirt, the sound of someone he’d never met addressing him.

“Armin? Armin!”

Peeking through his fingers, Armin shifted his head ever so slightly to the sight of the biggest pair of hands he’d ever seen bracing themselves some inches away from him. He tried to form words, but his breath died in his throat and the shuddering took its place.

Fortunately, the speaker seemed to understand. “Listen, I know you’re probably about to lose your mind under there. But I need you to stay still, and not move around. Alright?”

The hands on the ground shifted, and a pair of bright blue eyes framed by pale features took their place. Short blonde hair could barely be seen peeking out.

All this Armin registered in the space of a couple seconds, nodding shakily. Stillness, he could do. It already felt like he was in a tomb.

The speaker shifted, presumably standing up, and Armin was left alone once again. The man’s voice, shouting to someone else, echoed under the car and Armin was stuck waiting in breathless silence.

A few moments later, the car began to creak again, but for a different reason entirely. Slowly, accompanied by the sound of grunting and the car complaining, the huge metal structure began to shift, not in front of or behind but to the side. Armin watched countless wires, tubes, and pipes slide by seemingly in slow motion, the only movement from him the sensation of his breathing.

Sunlight slid over his face in blinding slowness, hands reaching up to cover his eyes again until they had adjusted. Exhaling shakily, in the resulting open space, he pulled his knees up and vainly tried to sit up.

Strong hands pulled him upward, until he could stand on wobbly legs, shoulders trembling. The boy with the large hands was the one supporting him; in front was another with dark hair and nervous eyes.

“Are you alright?” The words vibrated against Armin, leaning against the tall boy’s chest, limbs like jelly.

He nodded, licking dust-dry lips. “I’m. I’m fine.”

“Floorflusher, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but you nearly just got crushed by a car. You’re shaking like a leaf. What I was wondering was if you had any broken bones, oil in your lungs, et cetera.” The boy (man?) had a deep, frank tone, something that sounded like it could be nice when he laughed and terrible when he shouted.

“I don’t think so.” It was all he could say. Maybe every bone in his body was broken; he certainly felt limp enough.

“Erwin’s gonna be out here in a second,” his rescuer continued. “In the meantime, I’m Reiner. My noisy friend over there,” here he gestured to the dark-haired man, “is Bertholdt. I’m sorry it took so long to get to you.”

“It’s fine,” Armin shrugged, breathing evening out with painful slowness.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

He nodded, face clouding in relief. “Please.”

Reiner helped him lean against the immobile car with firm gentleness, hunching down to get a look at his face once he had done so. “Glad at least you’re not hurt.”

“Armin!”

The blonde whipped his head up at the new voice, identifying Erwin as he hurried towards the small group. He didn’t stop until he was directly in front of the shorter boy, forehead creased in concern. “What happened?”

Armin gave a tired smile. At least no ‘Are-you-okay’ inquiries. “Supporting frame gave out on me. ‘Ve needed to replace it for awhile, but…” he shrugged, gesturing to the destroyed pile of metal. “Guess that’s a definite now.”

Erwin’s eyes widened, their calculating blue depths flicking over to the car, and then back to Armin. “I didn’t know about this.”

Shame reddened his cheeks as Armin bent his head. “Didn’t want to bother you about it,” he murmured.

With a sigh that was more of concern than disappointment, (but still hurt worse than any collapsing car ever could) Erwin put a hand on his shoulder, speaking with the same firm quietness with which Reiner had moved earlier. “Take the rest of the day off, Armin.”

He tilted his head up, confusion mixed with panic spreading across his face. “But…I still have work to do…I can’t just stop…”

“For one day, you can.” Erwin’s voice brooked no disagreement. “If anyone has a complaint, they can come to me with it. Understood?”

Armin nodded tiredly, the motion almost automatic. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. Bertholdt, please bring Armin some water.” Erwin had removed his hand, but his presence was still painfully close, only serving to increase Armin’s embarrassment.

“I’m very sorry-“ he began, but Erwin was not having it.

“Don’t apologise. Where was Jean?”

“He said he had to go somewhere,” Armin mumbled, head bent until his eyes could fasten on his hands resting in his lap. “I assumed he had gone inside to file or something.”

Erwin shook his head; the shadow of the motion flicked interesting shapes over Armin’s legs. “I haven’t seen him since this morning. I will speak to him about this.”

The hint of sharpness in the last sentence cut Armin to the core, fear for his colleague pulling through his own shame. “Please don’t be angry with him, sir. Something’s been off with him all day.”

Erwin glanced down at him, and this time Armin looked up to return the gaze, hoping that the pleading in his eyes would serve some purpose.

“Regardless of his reasons, he shouldn’t have left without telling anyone. But I’m sure he’d appreciate you sticking up for him.” Tone softening slightly, he offered a small smile. “I’m very glad you weren’t more severely hurt, Armin.”

Footsteps crunching across the gravel, Bertholdt appeared once again, offering Armin water in a tall glass. He drank it gratefully, noting that his hands weren’t shaking quite so badly as he set the empty cup down. “Thank you.”

The young man nodded, seemingly at a loss for words, and retreated back to where Reiner was leaning against the car, arms folded.

Standing up again, this time all by himself, Armin managed a faint smile directed at his boss. “Thank you all for your help. Without it, I’d probably be dead right now.”

“Don’t mention it,” Reiner answered.

Erwin walked Armin to the fence, and while Armin wanted to make statements like _I’m fine_ and _You don’t have to do this_ he knew better. Erwin would see through them, and some days that was a comfort, and sometimes it scared him more than anything.

As he opened the door, Erwin’s calm voice broke through the silence. “Where will you go?”

Armin shrugged. “I need to go to the store.”

Erwin nodded, letting Armin out and stepping back. “Please feel free to call the office if anything crops up.”

“Thank you.”

Erwin shut the fence, genuine fondness in his face as he smiled. “I hope you feel better soon, Armin.”

Offering a small smile in return, Armin turned and headed down the sidewalk, towards the main road.

-=-=-=-

The store was a farther walk than he had expected, but he rarely had cause to go that way and picked it now out of convenience. The shop door was open when he came towards it, afternoon sunlight lazily drifting over the window panes and causing striped panes of light over new wood. A group of three women were about twenty feet away, drinking cups of coffee and laughing at something one of them had said. Baskets hung over their arms and hats perched jauntily on their heads, cheeks flushed with the heat and the warmth of their blood. A couple across the street was kissing, the girl reaching up on tiptoes while the boy looked down at her with shy eyes.

The whole place was a picture of domesticity. Even Armin’s strangled nerves relaxed slightly at the sight.

He paused outside the shop’s door, breathing in the fresher air and enjoying the soothing atmosphere before running through a mental list of things he needed. Once he had them organised in his mind _(a new razor blade a bar of soap a cloth to replace his one at the yard)_ he rested his hand momentarily on the sun-warmed wood, and entered the store.

It was bigger than most of the others he’d been in, with two floors and several shop-girls running around helping customers. There was a woman looking at bread, a small boy looking at colourful hoops in a corner, and-

Armin’s breath stuttered in his throat for the space of a few seconds. In the far right-hand corner, Eren stood, fingers languidly scratching at the underside of his chin. An old-looking leather satchel was slung loosely over his shoulder, brass buckle half unclasped. He seemed lost in some sort of internal debate as his bright eyes flickered between two different brands of soap. Armin wondered with a flash of amusement what could possibly be causing him such a predicament, but he never got the chance to ask. Eren let out a sigh and picked up a bar of soap (the one on the left) and went to move towards the counter. Their eyes met almost immediately, both in each other’s proximity.

All traces of indecision left Eren’s face as he burst into a sunny smile, lips pulling back over surprisingly clean teeth. Armin stood still as he crossed the few feet of distance between them until he could be heard without raising his voice. “Tell it to Sweeney! What brings you to this fine establishment?”

Armin folded his arms around himself, a faint smile pushing through the exhaustion on his face. “Washcloth. I may have used my old one as a grease rag. Are you here to examine the dazzling array of castile?”

Eren looked sheepishly down at the bar in his hand, running the fingers of his free one through his dark hair. “This one smells better but the other one was less expensive.”

“I see.” Armin nodded wisely.

Eren’s grin only grew brighter. “It feels really strange seeing you, you know. Outside of Wall Maria.” He made an encompassing gesture with his arms.

Armin adjusted one of his sleeves. “Bad strange?”

Eren shook his head. “No. I wish we could do this more often.”

Armin flushed, and the taller boy glanced at him critically. “You look worn out. Did something happen?”

“Nothing, really…” Armin shrugged half-heartedly. “Had a bad day at work.”

Eren looked around the mostly empty store, green eyes moving back over to him a moment later. “Want to talk about it?”

Armin hesitated. Did he want to talk about it? Yes. Would he be able to get out what he was thinking understandably?

He sighed. “…Probably not.”

Eren smiled at him in a way he didn’t quite understand, placing his package underneath his arm and holding a hand out. “Let me pay.”

The blonde boy took a small step backwards, shaking his head. “I couldn’t possibly.”

“Aww, c’mon. Please? You look like you could use someone being nice.”

Armin flushed. “I don’t need charity, Eren.”

The other boy vehemently shook his head, attempting hold his burdened hands up. “No, of course not, that isn’t what I meant at all.”

“Then what?”

“I mean, I want to pay for this stuff and then get out of this store so that we can talk,” Eren explained, tone frank.

Armin bit his lip, suppressing a sigh. A warm feeling spread through his chest at the brunette’s unexpected sweetness, but it was a Friday afternoon, and that part of the city was going to get busy in the evening. As comfortable as he felt around Eren…he still couldn’t quite escape the nagging voice at the back of his mind telling him _Someone will see, someone will know. Someone is going to find out._

Eren, of course, knew none of this. Maybe, someday, Armin would have the courage to be honest and tell him everything. Why he was like this. Why he found it so hard to even slightly alone with a boy that burned brighter than the sun, and lived with a passion that threatened to eclipse them both in flames.

But flames were so warm, before they began to hurt. Armin was drawn to Eren’s warmth like a moth to a candle, and he was never so happy as when the other boy looked at him and he felt _understood._

There is a Greek word, one that Armin had read a long time ago in a book whose name he could no longer remember. _Ginóskó._ To come to know, or to realise. _To be understood._

Sometimes, when Armin thought of Eren, he felt that word seeping through the cracks of their conversations. Between the spaces of sentences and snippets of phrases that he could never say aloud, he could always bask in the knowledge that _here,_ someone was _coming to know him._

The warmth blossomed in his chest like a flower.

“Where do you want to talk? Don’t you have work?” The words escaped his lips, more cynical than he had expected.

Eren didn’t seem to notice. “We got some new staff in. Petra wanted some freedom to train them, so I got an unexpected night off.” He grinned. “Worked out well for me, huh?”

Armin smiled. “What about the first question?”

Eren nodded. “We should go to my apartment,” he said, without pause.

The fair-haired boy blinked, pulse rapidly elevating. “Just…talk?”

Eren nodded, grin still lingering in the corners of his mouth. “It isn’t much, but it has decent air conditioning and there’s food.”

Armin hesitated for a moment. _You promised. You promised to take risks and be more open. You promisedyoupromisedyoupr-_

“Yes!” He clapped a hand over his mouth, aware of the glance a small girl paying for some sort of sweet at the counter gave him at the exclamation. Lowering his voice, cheeks aflame, he repeated the word. “Yes. Okay.”

Eren’s smile was brighter than a bonfire.

-=-=-=-=-

Eren’s apartment was a small, somewhat shoddy affair that clearly needed new floorboards and at least two new coats of paint. The brick was cracking in places, and there was a suspicious drip of water coming from the drainage pipe on a sunny day.

Armin noticed all these things, yes. But he also didn’t fail to notice the pride in Eren’s voice as he opened his arms in an encompassing gesture announced, “Welcome to my pad!” Or the way that as he set down his satchel, his eyes strayed to the floor more than once, unspoken nervousness obvious.

The blonde boy smiled, setting down his own meagre package on the worn wooden table. “It’s cosy.”

Eren snorted, rolling his eyes. “You can call it what it is: Falling apart.”

“But it’s yours.”

The brunette paused for a moment, thinking it over. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is.”

Armin took a few steps in several different directions, curiosity evident. “There are two bedrooms here.”

Eren nodded. “The one on the far left belonged to Mikasa.”

“Your sister?”

“Got it in one.”

Armin laughed softly, straying into the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind me exploring.”

“There isn’t much to explore, or to discover, unless you count the occasional cockroach.”

Armin’s nose wrinkled. “I’d rather not.”

Eren followed him into the kitchen, gesturing around them. “There’s even a refrigerator.”

Armin’s eyebrows rose. “I hope this doesn’t sound extremely rude, but…”

“How did I afford this?” Eren finished for him. “It’s alright. We scraped together some money, I guess.”

The answer didn’t seem quite right to Armin, but he chose to drop the subject, instead running some tap water over his hands and rinsing them off. “Thank you. For letting me come here.”

He turned around, whether to find a towel or express his thanks more directly he wasn’t sure, but before he could get even a word out Eren took a step forward and pressed their lips together.

Kissing Eren had always felt good, no matter how many (or how few) times they had done it in the past, he had a sneaking suspicion that he’d never be quite over it. Frozen stiff in surprise, dozens of thoughts running through his head like _He kisses differently every time_ and _How do you always manage to surprise me?_

But the one that really broke through, that pushed rebelliously against the strain of his consciousness and demanded acknowledgement, was the one whispering _No one’s here to see._

And abruptly, he made the decision to stop thinking.

Their lips melded together like molten iron; the heat from Eren’s mouth pulled in and out by the currents of Armin’s breath. Numbly, he felt Eren’s work-worn hands settling on his waist, pulling their bodies close enough that gravity upended itself for a few moments.

He’d thought that Eren kissed differently every time, and the statement was true.  His breath was warm as it slipped through the cracks of his skin, through the strands of his hair, like a breeze that didn’t stop. Drowning in uncharted waters, all he could cling to was the feeling of strong hands holding his face, brilliant green eyes peeking out from tanned lids as Armin opened his own, blearily, for an unneeded reality check. This was happening. This had _already_ happened; there was no way he was ever going to be able to go back now.

The sick feeling threatening to creep into his gut burnt out in the fireworks of Eren’s touch, in the sparks left from his skin, the invisible tongues of fire whisking his dark hair into a frenzy as pale hands sifted through it like reeds.

 _All I want,_ Armin thought, surfacing with a gasp. _All I want, is to stay here, like this, with you._

It was his own private thought, his small pearl hiding in an oyster shell of fears the size of Texas. It was his own private wish.

Which is why, most definitely, he felt his body stiffen and his ears prick up as Eren nodded, then swallowed, and breathed in his ear. _“I want that, too._ ”

-=-=-=-

Growing up as a child, there were a lot of things Armin could take for granted. Meals every day, clothes on his back, someone being there to take care of him. But he had never been able to predict or decide if anyone cared enough to stay _after_ he no longer needed care; when he was old enough to tie his own tie and order a beer by himself. Between parents who had died and a limited number of friends, the fear of being left alone had been allowed to grow like a cancer in his subconscious.

And now, in a ratty old kitchen where paint peeled from the age-bruised walls and every breath of wind through the rafters felt like a secret, there was someone telling him the words he’d been desperate for.

And he was _terrified._

Breaking away, he took a stumbling step forward and felt his back connecting with the countertop, swallowing hard. “I. I. Do you have a bathroom?”

Eren blinked, kiss-plush lips opening as he pointed. “Down the hall, to the left.”

Armin nodded robotically, already heading in that direction. “Okay.”

The small room was easy to find, and Armin went in with a wordless sigh. Shutting the door and locking it behind him, he turned the faucet on and stared at his own reflection in the mirror. There was a crack in the top left hand corner.

_You can do this._

_You love him._

_You’re scared he doesn’t love you back._

_You’re scared of moving too fast._

_You’re moving too fast._

It was almost comical. Eren was the definition of a person of action; he always moved so quickly, sometimes _too_ quickly. A diplomat to the core. And yet here, Armin felt like a train rapidly losing control on its track. A trail of gunpowder lit too soon.

Rinsing his hands off with cool water, he splashed his face and pushed his blonde hair away from his face. Feeling a little calmer, Armin turned the faucet off and took a few deep breaths.

_I love him._

Somehow, saying it to himself was freeing. Already his shaky breaths were becoming steadier, and his trembling hands rested against the sink’s edge with new steadiness.

_I love him. I will love him. I will let this happen._

It was too late to go back, yes. But somehow that was bothering him less and less. He didn’t want to take a step back.

Only forward until there was no more ground to cover, or they ground to a screeching halt.

His right hand slipped off of the white enamel, reaching for the doorknob.

Reading had been his favourite subject in school, not least because they were always there when people were not. Countless fairy tales, myths and legends were still imbedded in his memory from many a lonely afternoon sitting under a tree.

Phoenixes were always interesting. Strange, almost diabolical creatures who had to go through unbearable suffering before reaching their true potential. Burned to nothing and then somehow finding themselves in the wreckage left behind.

Nobody blasted Armin with fire as he exited that tiny bathroom. There was no dust in the wake of his steps, no screeching victory dying away on the wind.

But something had happened, nevertheless. Some part of him had been changed, and there was no returning to the person left behind. The boy exiting the bathroom was not the same one who had entered it, no matter how subtle the changes might be.

 _I love you, I love you, I love you,_ sang in his head like a mantra, set to the beat of his footsteps. Cracking flames burning defiant in the darkness.

Eren was standing in the kitchen, steam rising from something on the stove that he was stirring with a wooden spoon. He turned around rapidly when Armin cleared his throat, smiling almost tentatively. “Hey. I hope pasta is okay for dinner…I don’t have much else on hand at the moment. There’s bread, too, if you want it.”

Armin opened the drawer he was pointing to, and drew out a slightly crusty loaf of bread, wrapped in paper. “Is there something for me to slice this with?”

“Yeah, your cheekbones.”

The words, casually stated, were the source of the redness exploding over Armin’s face. “Eren!” He hissed, looking dubiously down at the bread loaf as if weighing the pros and cons of hurling it.

Eren cackled, not sorry in the slightest. “Sorry, sorry. Bread knife’s in the drawer above that one.”

Armin pulled it out, grumbling mutinously as he began slicing it on the clean counter. He wanted to ask if there was a cutting board, but a subtle glance around the kitchen had revealed nothing, and he didn’t want to make Eren feel guilty. After another grin, Eren turned back to the stove and continued watching over the pasta, humming to himself.

“There’s a new dance that’s come out, didja know?’ He inquired, after a few moments’.

Armin hummed in response, placing the neatly sliced pieces of bread in some tinfoil before placing them in the oven and turning it on. “I’d give that fifteen minutes or so.”

Eren nodded, turning to his side so that he could look at Armin while keeping an eye on his pasta. “Random question, but are you feeling alright?”

“What do you mean?”

“You were acting kinda weird back there.”

“Oh, yeah.” Armin ran a hand through his hair, smile peeking out from his mouth. “Sorry about that. I had a little externalising to do.”

Eren looked a bit lost, but he merely shrugged and let it go. “If something’s wrong, you know you can always talk to me about it, right?”

Armin wondered how many times he would have to hear that before he stopped getting heart palpitations. But aloud, he merely said, “I know. Thank you.”

A few seconds of silence accompanied by the bubbling of water. “It’s um, it’s really nice to have you here,” Eren began again, if a trifle awkwardly. “I know this place is kind of a dump…but thanks for not minding.”

Armin shook his head, smiling openly. “It’s not a dump, Eren.”

Eren made a noncommittal noise and turned back around, clearly not believing him. Armin rolled his eyes, and took a few steps forward until he could wrap his arms around the other boy’s chest, resting his chin on one shoulder. Eren stiffened slightly with surprise, but then relaxed and leaned into his touch. Armin highly suspected that Eren was the kind of individual whose preferred method of comfort was touch. Nuzzling into him slightly, he breathed out a sigh. “You smell bad.”

Eren snorted. “Careful, Armin, don’t get too emotional on me.”

Armin grinned, a hand reaching up to lightly press his index finger into Eren’s nose. “This thing must not be working.”

Eren scowled, but there was no venom in his tone as he responded. “Or you’re just delusional.”

“Mm, I’m a very solid, grounded individual,” Armin teased. “I think it’s you.”

“I think you’re nuts, but I’m no expert.” Eren’s voice was dry.

Armin was quiet after that, absorbing the warmth of Eren’s skin through his shirt and the scent on his clothes. It was true that Eren smelled a little like cheap whiskey, but there was an underlying earthy, comforting smell that overpowered it. It reminded him of the smell of grass on a warm day, or maybe coffee beans before they were ground. Almost unconsciously, he felt his eyes drifting closed, arms securely holding him up. He had to stand on his tiptoes to reach that high. Damn Eren and his height advantage.

It might have been seconds, or minutes later when he felt Eren’s body shift until warm lips pressed into his cheek, and the bubbling sound on the stove stopped. “Pasta’s ready.”

Armin slid off him with a nod. “Got any bowls?”

Eren opened a cabinet to his right and gestured to a few bowls and plates, all of the same pale blue colour. “Matches your eyes,” he observed, almost proudly.

Armin rolled the aforementioned feature, reaching up again to reach them. Eren noted his effort and grinned. “You’re short.”

“Shut up, I’m not!” Armin glared. “You’re just insanely tall.”

“5’9 is not ‘insanely tall’.” Eren disagreed.

“Just take your damn bowls.” Armin shoved them at him.

Eren raised his hands, still grinning. “Be a dear and set the table for me?”

Armin huffed, turning and stalking towards the worn wooden table, setting the bowls down and arranging the silverware already there neatly. “You’re lucky I love you, you know.”

Upon receiving no response, he turned around curiously. Eren was draining the pasta water, ears as red as coals.

Armin smiled. _There we go._

-=-=-=-

Dinner was a fairly one-sided affair. Armin told Eren about his day at work; the car, Jean’s behaviour, why he was so tired. Eren was a surprisingly good listener, chin resting in one hand as he ate with the other, nodding and interjecting the occasional question. When Armin had finished, he was quiet for a few moments, slurping down a final noodle before speaking. “Are you, I guess, are you feeling okay?”

“As in ‘Am I over it’?”

Eren shrugged. “I mean, if my friend was skipping out on me and then I nearly got crushed by a car, I’d be feeling pretty shitty.”

Armin couldn’t stop the quiet smile bloomed on his lips. “I’m okay,” he answered softly. “I’m more worried about Jean. He has bad days sometimes, just like the rest of us, but he’s never been like…that.”

Eren nodded, usual acrid language towards Jean somehow stripped away. “You’re a really nice person, you know that? Like, much nicer than me. Or Jean. And probably a lot of people.”

Armin’s cheeks went warm again. “I’m not really. I just don’t like seeing people at a loss.”

Eren nodded, gesturing to him. “But that’s what I mean. You’re genuinely _kind_ to people; I’ve never once heard of you getting repaid for your actions. Like asking Annie out, helping that moron that was complaining about his car, and now nearly getting crushed just to try to do your best.”

Armin darted his eyes down to the table, taking in all the cracks, scratches and evidences of previous use. “I guess I just don’t want to be noticeable,” he said finally. “I think that if I do my best and never cause any trouble, that no one will pay me attention and I won’t have to worry.”

Eren didn’t ask him what he worried about. Instead, he reached across the table for Armin’s hand, threading their fingers together with unnatural shyness. “For trying so hard, you’re pretty obvious, Armin.”

Armin’s face went even redder, if possible. “Wh-what do you mean?”

Eren smiled at him. “You can’t help it. I don’t know how everyone doesn’t notice you straight away.”

The blonde boy fidgeted, staring down at their hands in confusion. “What am I so transparent about?”

“You’re beautiful.” Eren’s words were frank; open. There was not a trace of flirtatiousness or his customary humour.

Armin’s eyes prickled, free hand rising to wipe at his nose as he sniffed. “Stop it. It’s too late in the evening to be saying things like that.”

Eren laughed softly, drawing Armin’s eyes upwards until swimming blue met vibrant green. His fingers tightened around the other boy’s. “What if I say it tomorrow? Or the day after that?”

“Well…”

“What about every day?”

Armin’s face was just one big blush at that point. Eren’s grin was returning. “W-we’ll see. I need to get home,” he added regretfully.

Eren nodded, releasing his hands and standing up. “I’ll walk you down.”

“You don’t have to…”

Eren shrugged. “I want to. Is that okay?”

Armin nodded, reaching up on his tiptoes, before it was too late, before they went downstairs and had to pretend again. He pressed their lips together gently, then sank back to the ground, brain the quietest it had been in a long time. Eren looked at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, before heading towards the doorway and opening it for him.

As they went down the stairs and towards the back door, Armin felt a reassuring squeeze on his hand one last time, and then we was stepping outside onto the cool grass. Turning his head, he caught Eren’s silent wave and smile. Lifting his own hand in farewell, he strode towards the sidewalk, and then the main road.

-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Tell it to Sweeney’ is a phrase meant to convey surprise or disbelief. ‘Floorflusher’ is a constant dancer. Apparently Armin’s reputation precedes him…  
> \- Castile is soap. Yeah.  
> \- For some reason, the song playing most often throughout this chapter was The (Shipped) Gold Standard by Fall Out Boy.  
> \- Fun game: Go back through this chapter and try to count all the fire references. I’m sorry. I have no idea how it happened.  
> \- I have decided that instead of posting 'PSA chapters', that I will make updates on my [Tumblr.](https://mypromisetojonathan.tumblr.com) All posts about this fic will be tagged as 'fic: AEITS'. Feel no obligation to check, but if you want to keep tabs on the progress of the fic, that's the best way.


	10. Chances for You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Away from home, sure.” Eren waved an arm impatiently. “But you said me. Like you’re gonna skip out on that opportunity because you’re away from me, Armin. This is an amazing chance for you.” Abruptly his tone dropped, shifted, changed. “You need to go places. I don’t want you to stay here just because there’s…” his voice trailed off, raising a hand slightly as if in defeat. “Me.”
> 
> Armin felt hot all over, then suddenly, very cold. He was glad that he’d put his glass down, or else he might have dropped it. Eren’s words had not only had their own impact, but they’d forced him to acknowledge a part of himself that he’d been ignoring until now.
> 
> Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple updates: I apologise for the lengthy hiatus this fic went on. It’ll be my last work for this fandom, so I wanted to take time for it. I was hospitalised a couple months ago, which is part of the reason that this fanfiction was on hold. It is my hope that you can now expect updates reasonably regularly; right now I'd say to look for them once to twice a month, especially as the chapters are getting longer.Thank you all for your patience, support, and kind notes. It is always a joy writing for you all, no matter how many people read this fic.

-=-=-=-=-

_“I can survive either love or insanity. But not both. And you bring me both.”_

_\-- VÀZAKI NADA_

-=-=-=-

 

“Armin! Didja hear the news?”

Armin turned around with a puzzled expression, facing Connie’s own look of excitement. “What news?”

“So Erwin had that meeting last week, remember?”

Armin nodded.

“And this _morning_ he was making a bunch of phone calls to people all over the place, it must have cost a lot,” Connie chattered on. “And I don’t know _who_ all he was talking to, but long story short he wants to send you to Chicago!”

Armin blinked, trying to process through what he’d just heard. Chicago? Chicago was farther away than he even wanted to think about. And why…

“Why me?” Was his only question, fingers loosely gripping his oh-so-familiar grease rag.

Connie shrugged, hopping back and forth on each of his feet, unadulterated happiness without a sliver of envy written on his face. “You know he likes you. It’s great, right? He must trust you a lot.”

Ordinarily, the words would have filled Armin to the brim with pride and happiness. Now, they just echoed through him like a broken church bell. _Chicago._

“How.” He swallowed. “How long?”

“How long what?” Connie inquired.

“How long will I _be_ there?”

“Oh. That I don’t know. He made it sound like a while, though. More time to see new things, right?”

Armin was fighting the temptation to sit down in a heavy heap on one of the steps. But how was he supposed to explain that? Connie was right; he should be excited, and a small portion of him was.

_But how am I supposed to explain that you’re taking me farther away from him?_

The very thought of trying to express his lack of excitement made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Thanks for letting me know, Connie,” he said instead, mustering up the brightest smile he could. He couldn’t fake excitement, but he could at least appear happy.

Connie nodded, honest face taking on a shade of concern as he tilted his head. “You okay there?”

“Yeah!” Armin smiled again, wiping his already clean hands with the rag just to give them something to do. “It’s just a lot to think about.”

The shorter man nodded emphatically. “Tell me about it. I mean, I’m excited for you, but I couldn’t even imagine going that far.”

 _Neither could I,_ Armin thought faintly.

Slapping his knees, Connie straightened up and adjusted his shirtsleeve. “Well, I gotta get back inside. I just wanted to be the first to let you know.”

“Thanks, Connie.” Armin smiled, genuinely this time. It was pretty nice of him to take the time out of his afternoon to tell him.

Waving a hand, Connie disappeared inside, the back door slapping like it always did when someone forgot to close it softly.

As soon as he had gone Armin allowed himself to sit down, resting his back against the wheel of a Ford V8 that he’d only finished that morning. Blonde hair fell in his eyes only to be pushed back by pale fingers. He stared at his own hand for a few moments, and realised that it was shaking.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, more in frustration at himself than anything else. “It doesn’t make _sense._ ”

Unfortunately, Armin would learn much later, very few things make sense in their initial stages. Part of him felt guilty for wasting time, and another felt like he wanted to march inside and turn the job down before Erwin had even introduced it. If that was even an option.

But the part that won out was the soft voice in his head telling him that there was nothing he could do at present. He could wait for Erwin to bring it up, or he could wait until the end of the work day to go see Eren. The best thing to do at the time was simply do his job, and hold his peace.

He felt distracted as he worked, doggedly assembling pieces of metal to fit together better than they did before. A strange sort of restless exhaustion pulled at his limbs, weighing down the hand that held the wrench and the feet that bore him across numerous places in the yard.

A little before four o’clock in the afternoon, he was called inside by Annie to Erwin’s office. The exhaustion gave place to nervousness as he climbed the stairs, pausing just outside his door to steady his breathing and straighten his shirt collar.

After a momentary pause following his knock, he heard the customary, “Come in,” of his employer’s voice.

Erwin looked half buried in papers; a pair of glasses that Armin had never seen before rested on his nose and there was a wrinkle on his forehead that for once was more noticeable than his impressive eyebrows. But he smiled cordially as Armin sat down, stacking the papers before setting them aside and giving the younger man his full attention.

“Sorry to have pulled you out of the yard,” he apologised, folding his hands. “I just needed to speak with you before you left for home.”

Armin nodded, trying to keep his own fingers from squeezing together. “It’s nothing to worry about. I only had one car left, anyway.”

Erwin nodded, seemingly relieved. “Excellent. I wanted to talk to you about a job opportunity.”

Armin sat still, hoping to God that nothing in his face gave away that he already knew. He knew what Erwin was going to say. _Oh, God, a transfer to Chicago indefinitely…_

“I’ve been talking with several of our contacts on the Cincinnati front, and they’re very interested in doing business with us. Several of their best men have recently had to quit due to personal business they had to take care of, and they need a few temporary replacements.”

Armin swallowed, throat dry as dust.

“I would like to send you, Reiner, and Bertholdt down,” Erwin concluded, unfolding his hands to sift through the stack of papers.

“For…for how long, sir?” Did his voice sound as weak as he felt?

“Two weeks,” was the prompt reply.

Two weeks. Armin’s breath came back, flooding his lungs and lightening the load on his brain. It was a while, but a good deal shorter than he had initially thought. Still…

“However, I am aware that, of course, you are a valuable asset here,” Erwin handed him a sheet of paper, which Armin took. “Therefore, I’m giving you the choice.”

“Choice, sir?” Armin blinked at him. “To go or to stay?”

His employer nodded. “I don’t wish for you to feel like I’m butting you out. In fact, I would not have asked you this if I didn’t consider you one of my most trusted employees.”

Despite his uncertainty, something in Armin’s chest glowed warm at the words. “Thank you, sir.”

“Take today to think about it. Please just give me your answer by the end of this week.”

Armin nodded, pushing his chair back as he stood up. “Thank you,” he repeated.

“You’ll find all the details in that,” Erwin gestured with one hand to the form.

Armin closed the door behind himself and headed down the stairs, unfolding the thin piece of paper as he did so. Blue eyes scanned the document containing obvious minorities such as travel, transportation, dates of work, ect. And a few other things such as his salary and liability.

He folded it neatly once having concluded perusing it, and put it in his briefcase before heading back outside. The warm afternoon air felt like a relief to his cold fingers…for the space of a few minutes. Half an hour later and he was wiping away sweat every few moments, wishing he had something to assuage the cloying heat.

Erwin’s offer had not left his mind, in some ways the time outside to think and consider had only elevated his sense of urgency to make an answer. His hands moved in pace with his frantic thoughts, the feeling of diligence serving to comfort him slightly.

When the evening shadows were more a hindrance than a mercy, he finally stopped and gathered up his tools. As he placed them neatly back in their boxes, he was struck with a thought.

Where had Jean been all day?

It was possible that he’d been sent to work on a different area; sometimes it happened. But he was _sure_ someone would have at least informed him…

Caught between the desire to find out and the desire to _go,_ he wavered and finally decided. If there was something wrong with Jean, he wanted to know. At least then he could go with a clear conscience.

Pushing his way inside the doors to where most of the employees had either left or were cleaning up their desks for the next day, he paused in front of one whose occupant was still tapping away at their typewriter.

“Annie.”

The blonde woman looked up, sharp blue eyes taking him in, fingers hovering over the keys as if unsure as to whether he was worth the trouble or not.

“Can I help you?”

“I haven’t seen Jean all day,” Armin explained, speech on the verge of faltering. “Do you…do you have any idea where he might be?”

Another pointed stare. Armin was struck with how much like a shark she seemed, beautiful and dangerous. All sharp edges and strange, slanted lines.

“He’s been on the other side of the city,” she informed, tone crisp. “Erwin’s had him out there since early this morning. Pretty gruelling work, I’d expect.”

She must have noticed his look of distress, for her face softened ever so slightly. “He’ll be back here tomorrow. You can talk to him then, or I can leave a message on his desk.”

Armin’s eyes drifted upwards as he considered for a moment, before politely shaking his head. “No, thank you. I’ll just speak to him tomorrow. Have a good night, Annie.”

She nodded, returning to her typewriter as if their conversation had never taken place. Armin drifted out of the building, taking a cursory glance upwards and seeing the light in Erwin’s office still on.

“He shouldn’t work so late,” he murmured to himself. “God knows _he_ of all people deserves a break.”

At the back of his mind tugged the faint worry about Jean’s job for the day, (and why he had not been informed of it) but he already had a pretty clear idea of _why_ it had happened, and didn’t feel it worth pursuing. At the very least, Erwin would have to take time to explain if he wanted to share, and the sooner he got home, the better.

His shirt from the day was still, (remarkably) quite clean, so instead of taking his normal route and going home to change, he called a taxi and headed immediately towards the club. He was disappointed, but unsurprised, when he realised that his cabbie was not Levi, but there was always the hope of his return journey. And his mind was occupied with something a little heavier than casual conversation.

He already had the fare out when the cab stopped, and hurried out as soon as the driver had received it. Lights blossomed from the second floor of the building, warm and bright and maybe a little kaleidoscopic. A small smile pulled at his lips and he paused on the sidewalk, hands squeezing and releasing at his sides.

The club seemed unusually loud for the time of day, and when Armin got to the top of the stairs, he saw why. A group of young people were gathered around the bar, obviously engaged in some sort of party. The staff were hurrying around, seemingly being run off their feet. There was Petra at the far corner, red hair flicking like tongues of flame as she hastily filled and refilled drinks. A live band was playing up on the stage, but there didn’t seem to be any dancing going on, at least for the current time. Forehead wrinkling, Armin took a few steps forward, wondering if he’d be able to get a drink at all. It wasn’t the end of the world if he couldn’t, but it gave him a convenient excuse to stand around and look for Eren.

His guess was that Eren was in the back room helping to clean, as he’d mentioned once that he often volunteered.

 _Gives me some time to think,_ he’d said.

Armin didn’t blame him.

He found an empty chair halfway in the shadows at the front of the room, and let his weary muscles rest. A headache was beginning somewhere behind his eyes, but at present it wasn’t enough trouble to seriously worry about. Running a hand through his hair, he turned his attention towards the players on the stage with unabashed curiosity.

It was obvious that they were a jazz band; that much had been obvious to him from the first moment he noticed their presence. But they seemed to be intermingling their style with another-blues, perhaps-and it created a fascinating effect. The upbeat, swinging melody of the jazz was held back and made more melancholy by the slower rhythms and sounds, reminiscing an earlier sort of music. Armin raised his eyebrows briefly, impressed. He’d never seen something like that before, and it produced a captivating sound. Almost unconsciously his foot beat on the floor in time with the music, jangled nerves smoothing themselves out like the creases coming out of a shirt.

Idly, he wondered how much longer Eren would be in the back rooms. Surely he wouldn’t be stationed there for his entire shift, but Armin, unfortunately, didn’t have all night to wait for him. The thought made him smile a little wryly. In the long run, he could wait a very, very long time. In the short of things? An hour, maybe two. A precious Sunday afternoon. Never more.

Not that that mattered. Armin knew that Eren was keenly aware of his situation, and vice-versa. In Paris, this sort of thing would be dangerous, exhilarating; _new._ In New York it was something to be hidden, and he ground his teeth every day at the thought of it. The thought that something so bright, so _wonderful_ as Eren Jaeger and all that he was should be hidden, was the shameful thing. The idea people should go red-faced and rub their necks over.

He realised that his fist was clenched on top of the table, and abruptly relaxed. _Too open, too obvious, Arlert._ He could almost hear Levi, of all people, saying the words in his head.

“A drink, sir?”

He turned his head, smile already beginning before he could even see the speaker. Eren stood next to him, just far enough away to be professional, a tray balanced on one hand. He looked gorgeous. Green eyes bright with youth and some sort of secret, inner amusement; brown hair a mess no doubt from running his hands through it as he was wont to do when distracted. Tantalising mouth stretched into that incandescent grin; one that lit up a dim room with its brightness. Armin had witnessed it first-hand too many times to count.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any ice water on hand, by chance, would you?” He inquired.

Eren was forcing his face to remain solemn. _I’m so glad to see you,_ his smile said. _I missed you,_ the twitch of his free fingers murmured. _I want to kiss you,_ that soft mouth beckoned. “We certainly do, sir. Anything else I can get for you?”

Armin shook his head. “Nothing I can have right now.” His tone was cool; he could only imagine his face. Hopefully almost as composed.

Eren nodded briefly and darted away, with a speed that was rather perilous, given what he was carrying. Armin rolled his eyes. He never _was_ able to make himself go about things slowly.

Armin loved him.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

He stayed there for all of Eren’s shift, until weariness was tugging at his eyelids and threatening to make his limbs fold. Even the hard marble of the table top was starting to look surprisingly comfortable.

“Hey, sleepyhead, you’re not going soft on me yet, are you?”

He started awake, peering up with a slight wince at Eren, towel slung loosely over one shoulder.

“Ah,” he said, because he wasn’t sure if he should apologise, or if Eren should be flattered that he could fall asleep on their table top.

“Why are you still here?” Eren gestured at the clock on the wall. “You never stay this late. Not that I’m complaining, mind.” He flashed a quick smile.

“Need to talk to you,” Armin explained, exhaustion sinking over him again. The work that day wasn’t even that _hard;_ he shouldn’t be so tired…

Eren’s forehead wrinkled. “Is something wrong?”

The blonde boy shrugged, waving a hand. “Not really _wrong,_ but I needed to ask your advice.”

Eren brightened, fingers twisting over his rag briefly. “Well, I need to finish these tables.”

“I could come home with you,” Armin suggested, then flushed. “To just…have a place to talk,” he continued.

Eren was quiet, and for a moment Armin wondered if he had overstepped his bounds. His breath hitched slightly, ready to apologise.

“That could work,” Eren replied, before he could get the words out. “As long as, you know.”

Armin nodded. He didn’t need to go into particulars. _As long as you pretend I’m your cousin, or your sister’s husband. We’re walking home because I need a place to stay for the night. I’ll leave without being seen because no one will happen to notice me. Anything but the truth._

“Okay,” he agreed, because that’s what you did, when you loved someone. You bring them lightness; you ground them and you lift them up.

“I’ll be back in a few,” Eren smiled again, and his hand brushed Armin’s shoulder as he moved past him.

Armin sipped the last of his water and looked at the rest of the room. The two people who had been playing earlier were packing out, and most of the customers were towards the back, where one could see the stars most clearly.

Stars.

Armin remembered the back of the store from by the walls, the mud he’d had to clean off his shoes. Breathless air washed over his skin. He shivered slightly, and wondered where Petra was. He hadn’t seen her in at least an hour, but perhaps her shift had already ended. He could always ask Eren.

It was some minutes later when the aforementioned bartender reappeared, flashing a grin. “Looks like you’re getting comfortable.”

Armin smiled back. The infectiousness of that smile was irresistible. “Not intentionally, I assure you.”

“Ready to go?”

He nodded and stood up, a trifle wobbly on his feet. “Do you need help carrying anything?”

Eren glanced down from one hand to the other, then back up at him. “Perhaps I can help you carry something.”

“I didn’t bring anything,” Armin pointed out, confused.

In answer, the other boy pressed the tip of his index finger to the centre of Armin’s forehead. Armin rolled his eyes, slapping it away. “Get a move on, idiot.”

Eren smiled again, huge and warm and enveloping. A stab of warmth went through Armin’s chest, affection blossoming like a flower.

“People are going to see,” he mumbled.

“The only one still in here is Mina,” Eren gestured to the open back door. “She’s rinsing out the rags.”

“Oh. Does she need help? Concern clouded Armin’s voice as he looked out.

“Stop being so morally upright. Trust me,” Eren smiled a little oddly. “She’ll be fine.”

At Armin’s doubtful look, he pushed his empty chair back in and gestured for the blonde boy to follow. “C’mon, mother Goose. I want to hear about this delimma of yours.”

“Wow, he used a big word,” Armin murmured close behind him.

“Fuck you,” Eren responded cheerfully.

Armin grinned, and the weight on his chest felt lighter.

-=-=-=-=-

They walked slowly down the streets, close but not touching, faces angled in shadow. There were a few people still out; a couple by a streetlamp, a few business partners deep in conversation. The two of them hardly stuck out-two boys walking like old friends-on the sidewalk. One more pair in a city that, reputedly, never slept. Sometimes in his youth Armin had thought about that reputation, and wished for the same.

But no such luck came to him then, and it did not help him at present. He was still tired, and wondered how long telling Eren what was pressing on his mind would take.

 _I wonder if Jean is tired right now,_ he thought ruefully.

“Do you think Jean is alright?” He found himself asking out loud.

Eren shrugged. “I don’t see the guy regularly. You’d have to tell me that.”

“I know,” Armin agreed. “Just from what I’ve told you. I worry about him.”

“I’m sure he appreciates it,” Eren replied, speaking slowly. “But it’s not going to help him. If he wants to talk about it, he’ll come to you.”

Armin was quiet for a few moments. “I sometimes get the feeling that Jean doesn’t trust many people at all.”

“But he trusts you.”

The shorter boy slowed in his walk. “Sometimes,” he answered, very quiet.

A brown hand brushed over his for a faint moment. “I wasn’t accusing you. I just want to make sure you understand. I don’t know Jean, but I know you, and I can imagine the way he’s thinking. He probably has some personal issues of his own, and until he gets them worked out, it’s going to continue to affect his work. And by extension,” he added with a knowing look, “it will affect you.”

Armin looked up at the street lamps over their heads, feeling taken aback. Not because he wasn’t expecting to be helpful, but because he hadn’t, really, told Eren anything yet, and he already understood so much of the situation. He knew what to tell Armin before he even asked for it. Dimly he wondered when the beautiful boy next to him had become so astute. Or maybe he’d always been so, and Armin had just started noticing.

“Jean has so much energy, and he’s not afraid of hard work,” Armin defended, although he didn’t know what he was defending Jean from.

“Perhaps you’re just looking at him through rose-coloured spectacles,” Eren noted, voice wry.

“I suppose I just don’t feel the need to be cynical of other people when they’ll do it for themselves,” Armin shrugged. “You know?”

Eren reached into his pocket, fishing out his keys as he smiled. “I get it.”

Armin was silent as he unlocked and opened the door, then followed him inside down the hall and up the stairs.

“I think,” Eren finished, as they entered his part of the apartment, “that Jean might want a friend right now. Or at least, someone he can talk to. Which sounds dumb because _everyone_ wants that, but you know what I mean?”

He looked frustrated with himself, but also so hopeful that Armin was compelled to believe him. Even if Jean wanted something entirely different, or had problems beyond anything Armin could solve, Eren was still right. Everyone wanted that. So he just nodded. “Yeah. I think you’re right.”

“I don’t know if that helps anything,” Eren concluded, leading the way inside his room. “But it’s what _I_ would do.”

Armin closed the door behind them, nodding. “Thanks.”

“Do you want any water?” Eren called from the kitchen. “We have some juice, too, but it’s, like, a week old. Easy.”

Armin smiled, nerves making him feel tense. Even the thought of drinking juice felt like too much. “Water’s fine. I’ll come get my own.”

“If you’re sure,” Eren replied doubtfully, voice lowering to a normal tone as Armin stepped inside the kitchen.

Armin grabbed a glass from the cabinet, feeling proud of himself for remembering where it was. Chronically bad short-term memory was a constant accompaniment to his daily life. Filling it with water from the sink, he turned around and faced Eren.

The dark-haired boy stood across the room, drinking his own glass, full of orange juice. “So. What’s the big thing you wanted to ask my advice about? Or was the whole conversation involving Jean that?”

“No, Jean was me getting side-tracked,” Armin admitted. “There’s another thing. If you don’t mind giving out advice for another topic.”

Eren shrugged shoulders rolling under his shirt. “Hit me.”

Armin swallowed a large drink of water before saying anything. When he did, it was slow, sounding odd to his ears. “Erwin, my boss, wants to send me and two other co-workers to Chicago to do a little networking. We’re going to be working there.”

Eren’s brow furrowed. “For how long?”

“Two weeks.”

Eren nodded, but said nothing.

“So,” Armin continued, waving a hand and staring longingly at his water. “Two weeks is a rather long time, and I wouldn’t know anyone. He gave me a choice and asked me to give him an answer by the weekend.”

“So, what do you need advice on?” Eren looked confused.

“Whether I should go or not,” Armin answered, feeling like an idiot.

“What were you _thinking_ of doing?”

“I was considering just saying No,” Armin shrugged, swirling the water in his glass. “I don’t…I don’t know if going would be worth it.”

“Worth what?” Eren had stopped drinking his juice, attention now fixed on him entirely.

Armin blinked. “Worth all the time away from you, I guess.”

Eren looked blank. “You’re saying,” he said, as if he didn’t understand, “that you don’t want to go to Chicago because I won’t be there?”

Armin was momentarily silent. When he answered, it was soft, and unsure. “Yes.”

For a moment Eren looked flustered, then confused, and then somewhat irritated. Armin didn’t know if that frustration was directed towards him or something else. “You can’t just… _do_ that.”

“Do what?” Now Armin was becoming irritated. “What are you not understanding, Eren?”

“You!” Eren’s voice rose. “That’s idiotic, Armin.”

_Idiotic._

_Idiot._

“Because I don’t want to spend that much time away from home?” Armin demanded, setting his water glass down. His hands were shaking, mind yelling that it didn’t _want a fight._ Not now, not ever, and especially not with Eren.

“Away from _home,_ sure.” Eren waved an arm impatiently. “But you said _me._ Like you’re gonna skip out on that opportunity because you’re away from _me,_ Armin. This is an amazing chance for you.” Abruptly his tone dropped, shifted, changed. “You need to go places. I don’t want you to stay here just because there’s…” his voice trailed off, raising a hand slightly as if in defeat. “Me.”

Armin felt hot all over, then suddenly, very cold. He was glad that he’d put his glass down, or else he might have dropped it. Eren’s words had not only had their own impact, but they’d forced him to acknowledge a part of himself that he’d been ignoring until now.

_Home._

Eren’s moment of anger seemed to be completely gone, replaced by a soft sort of exhaustion. It looked like he was putting effort into calming himself so fast, however. “I didn’t mean to yell,” he apologised, stepping forward.

Armin still felt cold, hands hugging his sides.

“Armin,” Eren sounded a little pained now. “Please come here.”

Slowly, Armin moved across the kitchen, Eren’s hands reaching out for him. He didn’t look up until Eren leaned down, meeting Armin’s gaze from below him.

“I wasn’t angry,” Eren said, voice soft. “But it’s stupid to throw away that kind of chance for a reason like that. If I were you, I’d snatch it up in a heartbeat.”

“I know. I just.” Why was his mouth so _slow?_ Armin fumbled for the right words, blue eyes darting around the kitchen. “Now I’ve got you, and. I don’t want to leave, and it’s _stupid,_ I know, because you’ll be right _here,_ but it’s so far from home, and-“

The thought came to his mind unbidden when Eren’s mouth sealed over his, fingers tangling in soft hair. It scared him, and it interested him. It was far too soon, far too _certain,_ and far too dangerous to say.

-=-=-=-=-

 

You _are my home._

It was the thought that beamed with all the glare of a bonfire in Armin’s mind, waking him up as he pulled Eren down. Every nerve in his system felt suddenly flooded with energy, like he could talk, sing, argue, fuck for days.

But he didn’t have days. He didn’t even have a _day._

Eren was kissing him back, confusion pushed somewhere to the side in the green of his eyes. But he didn’t protest when Armin’s hands pulled him closer, or when he moved towards the living room. It _was_ too fast, and it was too sudden, but it was also too _much._ There was too much to say, and soon, too much distance between them.

Armin didn’t want a resolution, he wanted a _now._ Something he would take with him on the train, in his room, in a crowd of people. A memory where it was just him and Eren, Eren and Armin, Armin and his boy.

_My beautiful, beautiful boy._

 “You’re warm,” he mumbled, tipping his nose forward until their mouths met again. His entire body was thrumming with energy, borrowed from the weariness-and-adrenaline concoction he’d been sipping from all evening. A good metaphor; he felt a little drunk. Eren tasted so _good;_ warm and a little salty, voice hushed with the sounds he was trying not to make. Armin wanted to hear all of them.

He backed Eren up into the couch, leaned forward until Eren got the hint and sat down, heavy and warm and beautiful. Armin looked at him with hazy eyes and kissed his neck. Eren let out a strangled sort of noise at the gentle pressure of his mouth, not enough to mark, but enough to memorise. Armin smiled in a quiet sort of triumph, sighing when the other boy’s hand ran through his hair.

It was so soon, it was so dangerous, and it was so _true,_ that Armin couldn’t stop himself. “I love you.” Why did it sound like a sob in his mind?

Eren sucked in a breath above him, fingers stilling abruptly in their sifting. “Armin,” he said softly, and no one had ever made a sonata out of his name before quite like that.

That restless energy goading him forward, Armin moved upwards to kiss his cheek, a kiss to his hair, one to his eyes. His hand snaked upwards, brushing over that irrefutable swelling in Eren’s trousers.

He sucked in another breath, this time for an entirely different reason, and shifted. “Armin-“

“Let me,” Armin said, like he was a child, or Eren was the child and he was trying to explain something. “You helped me tonight. Let me do something for you in return.”

“Armin, you don’t have to compensate me.” Eren shook his head. “That’s not how this works.”

“I know,” Armin whispered, and they both knew he was pleading. “I just want to make you feel good. Please give me a chance.” _Let me make you feel a third, even half of what I feel._

Eren’s eyes were dark, face caught in that wavering uncertainty Armin knew so well. The one where you put everything in balance and see which end comes first.

Well. Armin knew who would be coming first.

To ease along the decision, he glanced down, something lower than his stomach twisting, hand still resting over that spot. The logical part of his brain was so quick to point out that they didn’t have time, that Armin was rushing, that they should wait. His mind agreed with Eren but his body was moaning for him…

Abruptly, Eren leaned forward, kissing him with something that felt almost like harshness. But Armin knew there was nothing cruel in it; it was a string snapping, it was a wire pulled too tight. Armed with this admission, tentative in that permission, he helped Eren slide his pants down just a little, heart jumping into his throat when he slid his fingers down and encountered warm, hard flesh. The dark haired boy jumped, a harsh sound making its way out of his throat as he leaned back against the couch. Armin kneeled, close to Eren’s face, hand wrapped around his cock. God, he had no idea what he was doing. Just impatience to find out.

He gave a light, experimental squeeze, which proved positive. Eren responded beautifully, and Armin gained confidence bit by bit as he moved quickly, running his fingers up and down, brushing his thumb over the velvety head. Eren’s eyes had fallen shut at some point, breath coming from his mouth heavy and barely restrained. He shifted under Armin’s free hand, resting on his knee. “Move your hand up and down,” he encouraged.

Armin did as he was told, brow furrowed in concentration as if Eren’s body was an interesting new map to study rather than a powerhouse of sounds. Perhaps they were one and the same; either way, he was desperate to explore.

He was so focussed on what he was doing that Eren was coming before he even realised it. Face glowing at the blissed-out look on Eren’s face, he ran to grab some tissue and returned mopping up the mess. Together they straightened up Eren’s pants.

“Was that your first time?” Eren inquired, looking down at him with heavy-lidded eyes. His voice was slow; sleepy.

Armin nodded. “Was it okay?”

The other boy laughed softly, and pulled him closer. Armin curled next to him on the narrow couch, returning his kisses. “You should let me do you, too.”

He shook his head. “We’re both tired. Save it.”

There was a question behind Eren’s eyes, but his voice was quiet. “For when?”

Armin kissed his nose. Suddenly he felt so, so tired. “For when I get back,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

“I need to go home.”

Eren shook his head, wound his arms around him. “Stay. Alarm’s already set. I don’t have to be at work until tomorrow afternoon. Stay with me.”

Armin wanted to protest, but sleep was already making his limbs lead. He couldn’t even muster a nod, and instead leaned against him. Eren sighed, brown hand reaching over and slowly tangling with Armin’s. He felt content. Regret could come in the morning.

“Go to Chicago, Armin.” Eren’s quiet voice was nothing more than a mumble. “Go see things you haven’t. Meet new people.”

Armin didn’t say anything back. His fingertips brushed over Eren’s shoulder, thoughts almost delirious in his exhaustion. _I met you, I met you, I met you._

For now, just sleep. Deep and warm and velvety.

Like two little boys who’d snuck out, they slept curled on the couch, light and dark, brown and gold.

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Armin. Feels a bit like he's rushing into things, no? Well. Perhaps if we all had the option of going home with Eren Jaeger, we would be no better.


	11. All My Best

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I’m sorry if this seems childish or silly, but I’m near bursting with not saying it. I miss you all the time, Eren. This place is beautiful, but it isn’t anything like being around you. That probably sounded stupid. But I really am having such a good time right now-I’ve seen more things and done more things in a few days than I have in years. I think (I hope) you’re proud of me for that, at least._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally forgot to post this yesterday-mea culpa! Hope you all enjoy it.

_“I wish I could pack all our memories into my skin, and my bones, so I can take them everywhere with me, and everyone can see how much of me is because of you.”_

_-_ _BENTLEYMAFIKA_

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin smiled, opening his eyes as he felt the wind rustle through his hair. The sea was vast and blue, and so much more intense than he’d imagined it could be. Of course, he’d been to the sea before; he wasn’t unfamiliar with how it looked or felt. But to be standing on something, in comparison, so small? To be so utterly surrounded? Yes, Armin did feel small.

Reiner and Bertholdt had already gone back to their shared cabin, ready to unpack. According to Reiner, they were no strangers to the ocean, although he said that with such a strange look that Armin felt puzzled. But he’d let it go at the time in favour of going upstairs, onto the modest deck, eager to see the ocean in all it had to offer.

_Has Eren been to the ocean?_ He wondered idly, running a hand through his blonde hair. It _would_ whip around his face, utterly disregarding the tie he’d put in four times already.

Listening to the steady rumble of the _Rose_ chugging on, he sat down on the bare deck and held onto the railing. There was so much he didn’t know, Armin realised, looking out at the ocean. Tons of things that didn’t matter, and plenty of things that did.

Somehow, they all came back to Eren.

_This can’t be healthy,_ he grumbled internally, shutting his eyes, only to open them again.

It was going to be a long two weeks. Not just because of Eren, although that was the chief factor. Eren’s mouth, Eren’s _eyes,_ Eren’s smile as he set down a glass of water.

_I’m so glad to see you._

What was Eren doing? Serving drinks, cleaning up the bar. Smiling at some stranger that had come in. almost unconsciously, Armin realised he was jealous, and laughed. Jealous of a stranger, and a _hypothetical_ stranger, at that. Eren would tell him he was being ridiculous.

Something about the ocean was making him nostalgic. He wanted to stand up, walk around, see the ocean from all sides. But something held him down, made him want to see _this_ angle for just a little longer.

What had _Jean_ been doing?

Forehead wrinkling, he sighed against the bars. He’d gotten a cursory farewell on Jean’s behalf from Annie, and he could tell even _she_ was softening it for him. How upset that must mean Jean actually was, made him a little worried.

There was still a question in Armin’s mind, a lingering doubt that despite Eren’s reassurance refused to sink. It floated and bobbed on his subconscious; a little boat in the midst of his thoughts.

_Why is Jean not talking to me…?_

Maybe it was money trouble. Jean had described his financial situation, once. Not in detail. Armin got the hint-Jean was making his own way.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

_“I’m not from money,”_ Armin said, as placatingly as possible. He shouldn’t have brought it up, but now he was scrambling for explanations. Jean did not look at all pleased at being asked.

Jean snorted. (Wasn’t helping the ‘horse’ reputation that was jokingly being passed around the yard, Armin thought.) _“I am.”_

_“Your family’s rich?”_ Armin wondered. A stupid question. Jean’s face went red.

_“I guess. They do okay for themselves.”_

Even then, Armin noticed the segregation. _Us_ versus _Them. Me_ and _You._ “ _Did something bad happen?”_

_“Depends on your definition of ‘bad’_.” Jean responded, chugging his water.

Armin curled his knees up to his chest. Sometimes Jean seemed so see-through; so easy to understand. At other times…

_“What happened to you?”_ He inquired, blunt. _“Why are you so set on finding your own way?”_

Jean was quiet for a few minutes, long face drawn as he thought over his answer. _“Let’s just say that they didn’t like something I found…pretty damn wholesome_. _”_

_“Oh. Okay.”_

-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin’s forehead wrinkled again. A really unnecessarily cryptic answer, especially from Jean. Still. He wasn’t going to force something from him. Especially not when he was trying to earn his trust…

He moved until his legs poked out from the railing, swinging them idly, breathing in the fresh air.

Blue and green, and brown as far as you could see. The route was indeed very much like a big ‘loop’, and sometimes he couldn’t even see the shore anymore. He’d never had reason to take the ‘Water Loop’, as the sailors called it, before, but he was very interested in the way it was structured. The Hudson river had seemed small, and almost insignificant on his maps of the world before. Not so now, when he was in essence sitting over it.

_But you’re the most goddamned beautiful thing in the entire world._

He leaned forward against the railing, huffing slightly. His chest ached, but so did his hands from gripping, his legs from kicking. He’d live.

_I think I was made for oceans,_ he thought to himself, and smiled slightly at the thought. With the admission something seemed to snap and free itself in him, and he stood up. His clothes wouldn’t unpack themselves. Dinner was soon. There was so much else to do.

-=-=-=-=-=-

_“_ _Armin, Armin.”_ Eren’s voice was so soft. Armin rolled over, wished the morning to take a little longer, to stay away for just awhile…

Rolled over, and fell off the couch. There was a snort of laughter somewhere in front of him, and he groaned.

_“You need to be up, if you want to get to work on time, pretty thing.”_ Eren’s voice was quiet, but it broke the stillness of the surrounding air and felt loud to his ears.

Armin sighed, forcing his body to sit up, propelled by the thought that Eren had just called him _pretty._ That should be like a small cup of coffee all on its own, he mused, as he took a look at his ruined hair in the small mirror adorning the wall. He grimaced at his reflection.

_“I look like I fell off a building, not your couch,”_ he commented.

Eren laughed, somewhere inside the kitchen _. “What’s the difference, really? They’re both unforgiving and hard to sleep on.”_

Armin’s mouth twitched in a smile, and he made his way to the kitchen   _“Do you have any cof-“_

He was interrupted with a start by the buzzing of the alarm in the other room. Eren hastily exited the kitchen, equally startled. _“Let me get this,”_ he called, _“and then we’ll see about coffee.”_

Armin smiled after him, sitting up and then abruptly frowning at his wrinkled clothing. _“Eren…?”_

The other boy took a moment before reappearing, yawning into a hand. “ _Mhm?”_

_“Do you have any extra clothes?”_ Armin winced. _“Nice ones?”_

Eren smiled wryly. _“My clothes aren’t nice?”_

_“You know what I mean,”_ Armin retorted, stepping forward. He gestured to his wrinkled shirt. _“Nicer than this one, anyway.”_

Eren frowned appraisingly, looking him up and down. _“Do you know how to make coffee?”_

_“Yes…?”_

_“Then you make that, while I go hunt up a white shirt. Deal?”_

Armin took a moment to look at him, both standing. Eren’s hair rumpled, tan skin golden in the morning light. Armin felt his chest contract oddly, unable to make himself move for a moment, he just stared. An unbearably personal thought came to mind.

_You are so beautiful._

But he didn’t say it out loud, and he let it remain a thought.

_“Yeah,”_ he said out loud. _“I’ll go make it.”_

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

The ship made an odd noise as it cut through the water. Chugging, burbling, the occasional sputter. Armin thought idly as he ran down the stairs, _I wonder what goes into these noises._

The sun was turning into a fiery orange ball against the backdrop of the water. The entire ship was slowly morphing into gold as Armin made his way downstairs, towards his cabin.

As he opened the door, mouth open to ask how his companions were, he froze. Seated, Reiner’s hands in Bertholdt’s hair. The two of them not even kissing, just their foreheads resting together, like there was nothing else left. Just the two of them, filling up each other’s space.

Just for a moment he stood silent, brain drowned in shock and stalling momentarily with something like…jealousy?

-=-=-=-=-=-

Eren’s breath was warmer than the coffee as he sidled up behind him, waiting until Armin turned to show him the shirt Eren had picked out.

_“This was my smallest one,”_ he said, smiling a little wryly. _“Does it work?”_

Armin turned around fully, gratitude blossoming in his chest like a flower as he took the offered shirt. _“I’m not_ small, _but thank you.”_ On a whim, he threw his arms around the taller boy, relief dripping from his every pore.

Eren wrapped his arms around him, confused but smiling nonetheless. _“It wasn’t a big deal.”_

Armin kissed him, and there was an edge of desperation to it; an air of _I will not do this for so long._ Eren seemed to understand and just held him tighter, pressing and lifting until the laughing Armin was seated on the counter top, drowning in kisses. The sound of bubbling coffee was accompanied by soft sighs, the gentle click of teeth, and the inaudible thunder of young heartbeats.

_Please, please don’t go…_

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin’s hand lingered on the door handle, slender fingers gripping it like a lifeline. Bertholdt sat next to Reiner, although _sat_ was too soft of a word. Bertholdt was _curled_ into Reiner, as if it was something that constantly happened. So constant that he didn’t even slide away when Armin came inside.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Armin said stupidly. What a stupid thing to say.

Reiner smiled, but there was a tense quality to it that didn’t help to put Armin at ease. “Just shut the door, Armin.”

Armin did as he was told, leaning against the door for a moment before stepping forward.

Reiner opened his mouth again, but it was Bertholdt who spoke. “If you tell anyone,” he said, calm voice even quieter than usual, “I will kill you.”

Even Reiner looked surprised. Armin couldn’t imagine what he himself looked like.

“I wouldn’t,” he responded, too quick to his own ears. Then, as if his brain demanded that he fill the silence, his mouth moved again. “Me, too.”

The two looked at each other, as if communicating something Armin couldn’t possibly understand. Then they shrugged and looked back at him. “Okay,” Reiner responded.

“I just need to finish unpacking my things.” Armin gestured to his suitcase.

“Be our guest.” Bertholdt yawned, “D’you know when dinner is?”

“Six,” Armin answered, feeling slightly mechanical as he began unpacking his small suitcase. “And it’s…” he peered at his watch. “Fourteen minutes ‘til.”

Reiner nodded, getting off the bed and heading towards the bathroom. “I’m going to shower, then.”

Armin just nodded numbly; he couldn’t see what Bertholdt was doing. He was so afraid that if he turned around the shake in his hands was going to appear obvious, and this was _the worst of times_ for him to be panicking over this.

_I just told him I just told them they both_ know…

-=-=-=-=-=-

Eren stretched up one of his arms, and for a moment Armin thought he was going to pull him down. But instead, Eren just reached into the cabinet to the left of Armin’s head and grabbed a couple of mugs. _“Coffee done?”_ He murmured, letting Armin go.

The other boy nodded, pulling on his clean shirt (his shirt, their shirt, Eren’s shirt). _“Give it just a minute, and you can help yourself.”_

Eren nodded, leaning against the counter as he waited on the coffee. At some point Armin realised he was being watched, and blushed to the roots of his hair. _“What?”_

_“Nothing.”_ Eren just shrugged. _“You look good.”_

_“Oh.”_ It wasn’t that Armin didn’t know how he looked. It was realising that that was how someone else saw him. He buttoned the last button on his shirt and kissed Eren again, because he could, and he wanted to.

Eren smiled at him, green eyes wide and honest, and poured them both coffee.

_I love you so._

-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin tried to pull himself together, and straightened his back when he turned around. Bertholdt was resting on his bunk (or was it Reiner’s?) and the room was silent for a few moments, apart from the rustling of Armin putting his clothes away.

When he was finally done, he sat down on his own bed, pulling out his notebook.

“Did you mean what you said?” Bertholdt inquired, making him start.

Armin was silent for a moment. “You mean about…”

“Yeah. Did you mean that?”

Armin nodded, remembered that Bertholdt couldn’t see it, and cleared his throat. “Yes. I did mean it.”

Bertholdt nodded and wiped a hand over his forehead. Armin was puzzled. Had he been sweating?

“I meant what I said before, too,” Armin continued. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Then your secret’s safe with us,” the much taller man looked up at him, dark eyes soft and yet somehow unapproachable. There was a strength behind them that Armin hadn’t noticed before, but would never mistake again.

“Thanks,” he answered, almost mumbling. _Secret._

“I know how you feel.” Bertholdt rolled over, holding the book over his face. “But you can’t take it too personally, you know?”

“Everyone else seems to,” Armin knew he sounded like a grouch; he just didn’t care.

Bertholdt snorted. “That’s why you have to be _different,_ Armin. You don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. Not many other people get to say that. One day, nobody will even care.”

“What, that I don’t like girls?”

He shrugged. “Don’t like girls, do like boys, what does it matter? Are you going to change the world’s mind all by yourself?” There was that dark-eyed look again. An appraisal, almost. “Nobody can do that, Armin.”

“I don’t want to _change_ them.” Armin set his pen down in frustration. “I just want them to leave me alone. There’s no… _need…_ for me to be so-“ He bit his lip, and went quiet.

“So angry? Or scared? Armin, they’re only that way because they’re scared of _you,_ ” Bertholdt answered, like that was obvious.

Armin, well. He didn’t have a good response to that. How long had Bertholdt been thinking about all that? Had he shared all those thoughts with Reiner?

“How long have you and. Reiner been together?” His voice felt stilted.

Bertholdt looked away from his book to glance at the ceiling for a moment. “Well. We’ve been friends for a very long time. As an actual…couple?” The word rolled off his tongue like it was easy. Armin envied him and Armin wanted to imitate him. “About two years.”

Two years. Even though in the long run, it wasn’t that much, the fact that a homosexual couple had survived that long seemed amazing to Armin.

“How did you do it?” He asked, curiously. “If you don’t mind me wondering.”

“What-how did we remain a couple?”

Armin nodded, blonde hair falling in his face.

Bertholdt set his book down, wiping at his forehead again. His rate of sweat was truly alarming, thought Armin.

“We just kept…working at it, I guess.” His answer came out with a shrug. “I’m sorry, I know that’s not the answer you were looking for. But I don’t think you expected for me to say it was easy. We just found something worth sticking to.”

Armin nodded.

Bertholdt gave him a sharp glance. “Why, do you have someone?”

_Cool face, cool face._ He shrugged. “No one I’m in something committed with yet. Certainly not like you and Reiner.”

“You will,” Bertholdt said, like it was a fact. _The sun rises, rain comes from the sky, you will find someone._ “I’m going to dinner. Reiner can come in his own time. You want to come?”

“Sure.” Armin put his notebook and pen back in his suitcase and stood up to follow. “I have no idea what dinner is, though.”

“Food is food, right?” Bertholdt smiled and shut the cabin door.

“I guess it’s just worth sticking to,” Armin agreed with a wry smile.

-=-=-=-=-=-

They drank coffee, and ate a few slices of toast. (Eren discovered, to his chagrin, that most of the loaf was in a sad state of mould.) They shared work stories while chomping through breakfast, making each other laugh and tragically burning their mouths when they drank too much coffee at a time.

_“This bread,_ ” Armin insisted, looking at the slice on his plate as if it had betrayed him, _“is going to kill me.”_

_“Don’t be a baby,”_ Eren smiled. _“It’s better than_ no _breakfast, right?”_

_“My mouth is so burnt by now I probably couldn’t tell the difference.”_

Eren kicked his foot under the table, grinning unapologetically. _“Well, that was at least better than-“_

_“_ No _coffee,”_ Armin finished, grudgingly smiling back. He stood up from the table, leaving a couple bites worth of toast left on his plate. _“Let me help clean up, and then I need to get going. It’s already past Nine._ ”

Eren put their plates in the sink, stubbornly insisting that he would wash them, and tossed the cloth to Armin, for him to wipe down the table. When the surface was clean and glimmering with spots of water, Armin tossed it at the back of his head just to hear Eren squawk.

_“Hell was that for?”_ He demanded, rubbing the back of his neck and turning towards Armin with eyes that promised pure vengeance.

Armin smiled. _“I don’t know. I guess I just want to do all the stupid things I can right now before I leave.”_

He finished the sentence despite the sudden swallow in the back of his throat; one that didn’t come from the coffee. Eren noticed his hesitation and took a step forward, pulling him closer until their foreheads rested together.

_“I’ll write to you,”_ he promised, softly. _“And you’ll have so much to do up there, Armin-you won’t even notice you’re gone.”_

Armin snorted, but he curled his arms around Eren anyway and let them stand, still in the growing morning light, the moment preserved for just a few seconds.

Eventually, though, it shattered. Eren let him go, pressed a kiss to his cheek. _“Your hair’s still a little messy,”_ he informed. _“You can use the mirror to straighten it up before you go.”_

Armin nodded, smiling at him gratefully for a second before he moved to the bathroom. Fortunately, Eren kept his supplies out pretty much in the open, and he took use of the other boy’s hairbrush. He looked at his reflection in the mirror; angular face pale, with tiny veins running down his neck in colours just a shade darker than the blue of his eyes. He looked tired, yes, but the faint smile hovering around his mouth was clear to be seen, and he could not remove it.

After he cleaned himself up and checked the time, Armin shouldered on his jacket and headed back out into the kitchen. Eren was putting the plates away, reaching on his tiptoes to avoid having to climb on the counter as he reached for the highest shelf. Amin smiled, watching him for a moment as he stood in the doorway, running an idle hand through his blonde hair.

_“I’d better get going,”_ he said regretfully, breaking the stillness.

Eren turned around and nodded, coming towards him. For once, Armin went first and threw his arms around the taller boy, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. Where it smelled safe, and Eren was warm, and Armin felt happy. The hug ended far before he was ready for it to, once again, but he didn’t complain. They kissed, only the faintest edge of desperation in the crevices of their lips, and Armin broke away.

_“I’ll see you soon,”_ he said from a safe distance. Because if Eren came towards him again, if he offered even one more hug or a single kiss, Armin wasn’t sure he could go to work that morning. Or to Chicago, or even out the door. He felt slightly idiotic for feeling that way, but everything about this place was becoming so familiar and so much of what he associated with _home,_ that perhaps his hesitation was understandable.

_“Wait!”_ Eren called, taking a step forward. _“Where are you staying? Wait, shit._ ” He turned around and reached for a pad of paper and a pencil on the coffee table. _“Now say it,”_ he instructed, fixing his eyes on Armin.

Armin smiled. _“17 E. Monroe Street, Chicago, Illinois, 60603.”_

_“Got it.”_ Eren clicked his pen. _“You can go now.”_ He grinned and lifted his hand in a wave, standing still until Armin closed the door behind himself and quietly made his way downstairs.

As he called a cab and waited for it to pull up, Armin thought briefly back to Jean. Would he be at work that day? In some ways, Armin wished that he was coming along with them instead of two employees that he barely knew.

_But,_ he chided himself. _It doesn’t have to stay that way._

He climbed into the cab as it pulled up, giving the driver his address for work, and staring out the window to idly watch Eren’s apartment building until it was out of sight.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin ate dinner with the others, not saying much. In fact, it would have been a quiet affair, if it weren’t for the captain of the ship joining them. Perhaps there didn’t feel like much to say. He’d never tried oysters before, but the salty rawness distracted him from everything that had been bothering him before.

Or, at least, everything outside of Reiner and Bertholdt.

It wasn’t so much that it _bothered_ him, but he tried not to feel jealous as he lay in bed, trying to sleep. The unavoidable fact that Reiner and Bertholdt slept in the same bunk, arms around one another, breathing the same air. Undoubtable as it was improbable to anyone else, and yet, there they were. Armin considered the ironies of finding the only other queer couple in…how far? Ten miles? Fifty? However far around.

He swallowed in the darkness, tried not to think of Eren.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Breakfast was early, but Armin found it easier to get up when he heard that the mail would be coming with it. He knew it was foolish to be hopeful for a thing like that; to hope that he’d gotten even a telegram.

But, hope pulls you forward when even the most powerful engines cannot. Armin _did_ receive a telegram, though from Erwin. But if Erwin was sending him news…

Hastily he opened it, pausing over his breakfast of hot porridge to read what was written.

**Shinganshina Automotives**

**Smith, Erwin**

**Jean is safely back in the yard, and sends his regards. Please tell Reiner and Bertholdt I wish you all safety. I look forward to you all being safely back.**

Armin smiled to himself, glancing up at the older men sitting with him. “Erwin wrote,” he said, softly. “He says that he hopes you’re both well.”

Reiner nodded, but Bertholdt looked almost surprised. Armin wondered if this was merely surprise at the care of another person, or that Erwin would write something so simple. Whatever it was, Armin didn’t ask. He tucked the telegraph in his journal when he got back to his room, and said nothing more on it.

                                                                        -=-=-=-=-=-

Bertholdt and Reiner were already at the office, suitcases neatly packed and resting against the wall. Armin felt slight embarrassed that he’d left his at his apartment.

_“Have you seen Jean?”_ He asked them, partly to get his mind off it, and partly because he couldn’t get his mind off that particular question.

_“Last I heard, he was in the yard,_ ” Bertholdt answered, and Armin could have hugged him.

Instead, he nodded, smiling at both of them and almost running down the hall, and down the short flight of steps until he could throw open the back door and look outside.

Jean was nowhere in sight, but the muffled curse ascending from underneath a car far to his left let him know that he was not alone.

Grinning, he traipsed over to where the box of tools sat innocently close to Jean’s figure, deep underneath the car.

_“Hi, Jean.”_

Jean squawked and nearly banged his head on the underside, sliding out with an offended expression. _“Good morning to you as well,”_ he grumbled.

Armin looked at him, the smile on his face slipping into an edge of greater concern. _“Jean, if you don’t mind me asking, where have you been?”_

Jean stared back, amber eyes slitting with something like suspicion. Or maybe even distrust.

_“It’s just…”_ Armin faltered. _“You haven’t been here for a few days, and when I did see you last you didn’t seem happy at all. I suppose what I’m trying to get at is, do you need anything?”_

For an eighth of a second, Armin thought Jean might cry. Then it looked almost as if the taller boy might hit him. Then, and the scariest thing, was that Jean’s expression settled into nothing at all.

_“I’m fine,”_ Jean said, in the way a drowning man might say, _I don’t need anything from you._ His eyes flitted down to the wrench peeking out of the toolbox. _“Work’s just been…hard, lately.”_

_“Are you working too hard?”_ Armin inquired anxiously. _“Because I’m happy to take over a few cars if it’ll help…_ ”

Jean shook his head, an edge of frustration colouring his tone. _“No, thanks._ ” He looked apologetic a moment later, and stood up to look Armin in the eyes properly. _“Thanks, though, Armin.”_ His voice was quiet.

Armin wasn’t sure what else he should say. Except, perhaps… _”I’m leaving, tomorrow morning to go to Chicago.”_

_“I know.”_ Armin strained his ears to hear the slightest bit of emotion in his fellow mechanic’s voice.

_“I…”_ he fumbled. _“I’ll see you when I get back.”_

For a moment, there was a pause of clinking as Jean stopped whatever he was doing. He didn’t move out from underneath the car, but he didn’t move away and laugh in Armin’s face, either.

_“Yeah. You, too,”_ was all he ended up saying. But it was enough for Armin. He turned to find his own toolbox on the steps, grabbed his grease rag, and went to work.

                                                                        -=-=-=-=-

The day dragged by tediously, and it would be the next morning before they got into Chicago. Armin read through the books he’d brought, inspected the entire ship twice, and frequently sat looking out at the water.

He felt a new nervousness at going inside his own cabin now; not because he was afraid of Reiner and Bertholdt, but rather of what he might find. And he couldn’t deny that there was a faint twinge of jealousy in his chest when he saw them together. That they should get to be together, no one else knowing, taking constant comfort from each other’s presence, was something he had never gotten.

_That’s not true,_ his brain reminded him. _All that time in his apartment. That night you slept together. You’ve gotten that time before._

Sighing slightly, he looked out at the churning water and conceded.

_I just miss him so much, and it hasn’t even been three days yet,_ the other side of his brain muttered.

He knew now that he regretted, at least to some extent, what he’d done the night before he left. Armin chided himself for being so impatient; unwilling to wait for what he surely could have had upon his return.

He thought about Eren’s face and the noises he’d made, and his cheeks coloured. It wasn’t that he wished he hadn’t jumped Eren, but he regretted his timing. Perhaps it was silly of him to think so, but he’d thought of anything that intimate as almost sacred, and he’d looked forward to getting to share that feeling with Eren. But instead, he’d rushed it.

He’d pushed open the cabin door doggedly before he could finish his thought.

Fortunately, all seemed to be well-Bertholdt was writing on his bunk, and Reiner was nowhere to be seen.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When Armin got out of work, after saying one more See-you-soon to Jean, he grabbed a cab and high-tailed it to his apartment. His suitcase lay on the floor, but he had yet to finish packing, and his thoughts were in a whirl. He settled down when he had his suitcase finished, however, only one question really gnawing at his mind.

_I know it isn’t my business, but why did Bertholdt and Reiner have their suitcases already at the office?_

He hadn’t thought about it before with the excitement of seeing Jean, but now that he was able to relax, he wondered. Perhaps they were staying with someone? But who did they know well enough to stay with? His nose wrinkled when he thought about it, but tucked the thought away. Joseph was home for the day, and he could be heard downstairs banging around the kitchen, trying to help with dinner. The noise, distracting as it was, made Armin smile. Alice must be so pleased with the help.

Checking his appearance in the mirror, he looked over his suitcase, then moved to his doorway. He went downstairs quietly, Alice’s exasperated laughter breaking through the silent air.

She was standing in the middle of the kitchen, a smudge of flour on her cheek, and her hair was in a mess. Joseph was in current possession of the cup of flour, a slightly sheepish smile etched over his work-worn features. They both turned to look at Armin when he came in, and he raised a hand with a small grin.

“So. What can I help with? Hopefully something without flour.”

Alice grinned and ran a hand through her hair, and reached for the cutting board.

-=-=-=-=-=-

The trip into Chicago took every ounce of Armin’s patience. Whereas on the first day he’d been staring at the shore they were leaving, by the morning of their arrival he was straining against the railing, facing the city. His blue eyes were wide with excitement, blonde hair whipped by the fresh wind. The captain saw him leaning against the balcony and cautioned him, laughing all the same.

“Sure is grand, ain’t it?” He said, voice proud as if it was his own city.

Armin nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “It is.” He looked back at the towering buildings, the shine of cars on the streets in the distance, and the hordes of people scattered all around the shore and docks nearby. Already he could feel something in his chest lift, like he felt when he kissed Eren, or fixed a serious problem in a car. “It really is.”

                                                            -=-=-=-=-=

_August 4 th, 1926 _

_Dear Eren,_

_I know you said that you would write to me, and it hasn’t even been a week yet. But it feels like it’s been much longer than that, and not just because of how far away you are. I wish you were here to see everything; I wish I could show you everything. But I guess you’ll have to be happy with this for now._

_On the second night I was here, one of Bertholdt’s friends who lives here took us to see Sinatra performing. It was night-time and there were coloured lights strung up everywhere, it was so pretty, Eren! And his voice; it was prettier than everything else combined. I wish I could hear it again whenever I wanted to in something other than my head. Maybe I’m just going crazy._

_The mechanics that I’ve been working with here are very friendly, and some of them are extremely talented. One man showed me how to fix a broken radiator basically from scratch, if you ever broke down on the road and didn’t have any tools with you. But after being around them even for a few days, I’ve resolved that when I can afford a car, I’ll always carry a spare set of tools in the back._

_How is everything at Wall Maria? I hope Petra isn’t being driven crazy by all the business you guys must be getting. The weather has been very warm here for Chicago, or so Reiner told me. I can imagine it must be something of the like for you all, too._

_I’m sorry if this seems childish or silly, but I’m near bursting with not saying it. I miss you all the time, Eren. This place is beautiful, but it isn’t anything like being around you. That probably sounded stupid. But I really am having such a good time right now-I’ve seen more things and_ done _more things in a few days than I have in years. I think (I hope) you’re proud of me for that, at least._

_My hand is getting tired, and I’m running out of this hotel paper, anyway. But I can’t wait to see you again. I wish I had paintings or pictures of everything I’ve seen that I thought you would like, but you’ll have to settle for me telling you about it when I get back._

_All my best to everyone at the bar, and to you. Write to me soon!_

_Yours,_

_Armin_

-=-=-=-=-=-

Almost a week later, later, on a Monday, Bertholdt collected their mail from downstairs. When he came back up, Reiner was reading on the bed, and Armin was writing in his journal.

“We got a few letters today,” Bertholdt announced. Both Armin and Reiner perked up at this, and Armin stretched out his hands to catch the letter Bertholdt tossed across the few feet of space between them.

“One for Armin, two for Reiner, and one for me,” he finished, sounding proud.

Armin turned the letter over in his hands, tempted to bring it to his nose and smell the faint scent of brandy lingering on the paper. Results of a bartender’s hands on the paper. He smiled to himself, almost giddy, and set it down on the desk above his journal.

“Thank you,” he breathed, but he wasn’t sure who it was directed towards.

“Welcome,” Bertholdt replied, entertaining no such confusion.

Armin went back to writing, resolving to read the letter once he had finished his entry. Excitement made his fingers tingle as if they were filled to the brim with sparks, and he couldn’t seem to stop smiling. But it was _Eren,_ and _Eren_ had written to him, and he’d _gotten_ it even with the shitty water-wide post.

He splotched ink on his page, and cursed silently.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

_August 10 th, 1926_

_Armin-_

_Oh, man, that sounds beautiful. I’m glad you’re having such a real good time. I wish I was there, too, but work’s so busy here that I don’t think they’d surrvive without me. Petra’s runnin around all over creation, but she seems to like it, so i guess we can’t complain._

_I’m so jelous that you went to see Sinatra! I’d give an arm to see that, forget about seeing him multiple times. But it was prob’bly best that you saw him instead of me; I know you’d appreciate it most._

_My letter’s gotta be short than yours; i really am being rushed off my ass with work over here. Sounds like you already guessed that, though. But that guy who you work with, his name is Jeen or John or somethin, he’s come in a few times. Seems real moody and a little sad I guess? Did somebody he cared about die recently? I hope that’s not me being nosy, but the fucker won’t drink anything but malt whiskey and that shit’s expensive as hell. Anyway. i know you work with him in the yard most days, so I figures you’d know._

_I miss you too Armin. And i can’t wait to see you again and kiss you and hold you and do all of those things that I like. But honestly I don’t think I’d care even if we didnt do those things, as long as i could be around you. I hope i get to do everything on earth with you._

_Signing off before Petra kicks my ass._

_Love,_

_eren_

-=-=-=-=-=-

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes:
> 
> Song for this chapter: [I of the Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tlCkafSYNJI)
> 
> This was a chapter of flashbacks, guys. I apologise if it got boring. :P (No, I don’t; I love flashbacks.) 
> 
> Yes, Eren’s grasp of English is fucking terrible. But you know it would be. Imagine if you had all that energy swirling around your system; would YOU have time to make sure every word was correct? And yes, his “I’d give an arm” comment was a reference. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	12. Home (With Me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s too much to say right here. We’ll be standing here until Three AM if I decided to narrate right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There IS NSFW content towards the end of this chapter. Please be aware!

_“I close my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of his shoulder and filling my lungs with the scent of him.”_

_― Jodi Picoult_

-=-=-=-=-=-=

Late nights weren’t something Erwin enjoyed working. He would much rather be home, taking a bath, eating, or going to sleep. But somehow he always realised during the week that there was work left to do, and one hour turned into four, and it was 1 AM before he even realised what was going on.

Levi knew about them, of course. He was probably the only one who could make Erwin stop once he’d started, and Levi had used a variety of methods to achieve that.

Somehow, however, Erwin doubted that was the point of the current phone call. He’d stared dubiously at the phone on his desk for several moments before picking it up, but who else would be calling him at 11:36 in the night?

“Erwin Smith,” he said anyway, voice clipped and professional.

“I know who you are,” the voice on the other line answered, dryer than the Sahara itself. Somehow, even now, in the midst of a pile of papers and unfinished work, it made Erwin smile.

“Why aren’t you asleep, Levi?” _As if I have room to judge._

“Tch. Why aren’t _you?”_

Erwin’s mouth twitched. Their thoughts synced like that more and more often of late, and he loved it as much as it made him nervous.

“Too busy to sleep right now. I’ll just rest longer on Saturday.”

“If that means you sleep until 5 PM again, bastard, I’ll drag you out of bed myself.” Levi gave a gentle, if disapproving, snort. “There is no way that can be good for you.”

Erwin picked up one of the pens lying on the desk, rolling it back and forth to see it glisten idly. “You can’t be calling me about my sleeping habits, surely.”

He could almost see Levi waving a hand. A clinking from the other end of the receiver let him know that the smaller man was drinking tea again. Probably black; he said it relaxed him after “a shitty day transporting shitty people”. Erwin privately thought the black tea just matched his mood.

There was a pause, and a tiny, huffing breath, and Erwin stilled. Levi didn’t take long pauses; his brain moved constantly at a hundred miles per hour. That was one of the first things Erwin had seen in him; and it frankly made Levi all the more attractive. If Levi was pausing, it meant he was working himself up to say something. So Erwin placed a pawn first.

“I don’t know how often I can keep taking calls like this.” His voice was quiet, a few fingers caressing the skin of his temple.

Another, quicker pause. “I know,” Levi answered. “I’m sorry for making you go through this shit right now, while you’re working. I hate having to talk to you in secret like this.”

“It’s not your fault.” Erwin sat up straighter, adjusting a few papers on his desk. A pang of guilt shot through him at the thinly-veiled bitterness in the voice of the man he loved. “And…I’m sorry. I dislike it just as much, if not more.”

“Someone’s going to find out, sooner or later,” Levi continued. “And I know that it doesn’t seem like a big deal to you, but you’re going to lose your job.”

“What about you? And your job?”

He could almost see Levi’s shrug. “I’m just a cab-driver.”

“Levi, you’re the _head_ of a cab business. Those are booming right now. Don’t act like it’ll be any less bad for you.”

“Whatever.” Levi sounded a bit testy. “I just wanted to call and ask…if you wouldn’t reconsider.”

_Reconsider this, Erwin. Think about your job, the employees who work for you. What would they think? And you love your job so much; I can see it in your eyes every time I see you. Why are you so attracted to taking these risks? And why are they for me?_

They’d had this conversation before; all of Levi’s thoughts, all of his little insecurities slashed at Erwin like little sparks from a car engine. His own worries he could handle; but Levi should never have to experience them. Perhaps that was unrealistic and overly-noble, but Erwin pursued it with a ferocity that most people associated with racing a car, or starting a bonfire.

“Why don’t you just stop?” Erwin inquired finally- almost demanded. “Stop answering my calls, calling _me,_ refuse to see me. It wouldn’t be that hard.”

A huff of laughter. “That’s just because you’re the one saying it, Erwin. I can’t just stop talking to you. And besides, if you wanted to find me, it wouldn’t be hard.”

_I’d want you to find me._

There was silence for a few moments again, both deep in thought and concentration.

“Then let’s just go another month. Just see what happens, or doesn’t. Please?” Erwin was the one to break the silence, knowing he was wheedling. He just didn’t care. He’d already be on his knees in front of Levi if it would convince him to give Erwin the chance he so badly wanted.

There was a quiet, blown-out breath on the other end. “Shitty bastard.” It was the insult of defeat. The day he’d gotten fired from his job at another cab business, Levi had called his boss a ‘shitty bastard’, tone laced with irritation and self-loathing. Somehow, however, Erwin knew it wasn’t the same when Levi said it to him.

He smiled, chest aching just a little, for just a second. “I love you, Levi.”

“I love you, too, idiot.” Levi’s voice would have sounded irritated if Erwin didn’t know him so well. “Will I see you tomorrow?”

“Day after, if you can manage.” Erwin felt as regretful as he sounded. “I’m piled up to the ears in paperwork right now. And I have several employees coming back in two days, so I can get them settled and then come see you.”

“Alright. I’ll see you Wednesday, then.”

“I look forward to it.”

“Jeez, Erwin.” Levi grumbled; Erwin pictured him rolling his eyes and just smiled more. Why did Levi have to turn his insides to jelly like this, every time? “You don’t have to be so excited.”

“On the contrary,” Erwin murmured, chin resting on his hand, “I think you’re something _very_ worth getting excited about.”

There was a silence, and then, “…Idiot.”

“I’ll talk to you soon, Levi,” Erwin said, voice coming out softer than he intended.

“You, too.”

Levi hung up the phone, and Erwin put his back in its holder slowly. Turning light blue eyes back to the paperwork in front of him, he picked up the pen he’d been playing with earlier and began working again.

_Twelve more sheets,_ he promised himself, _and I’ll call it a night._

Idly, he wondered if Levi’s cheeks had been red when he’d said, “Idiot.” If his tea was good, or just a quickly brewed fix for a long day. Was he still looking after those two orphan kids he’d found some weeks ago?

Now that he had one thing on his mind, it was impossible to focuss completely on the paperwork in front of him. Cursing quietly, he signed the last sheet (with eleven left, what a shame) and stood up. A huge yawn escaped him before he could stop it, a hand reaching up to cover it.

He hoped Armin, Bertholdt and Reiner would come home safely. He was looking forward to seeing them around the yard and office again.

-=-=-=-=-

Out of all the people who were excited to see them back, Connie displayed the most excitement. After nearly jumping on Armin, he proceeded to hug Reiner and Bertholdt, and then stood back to survey them almost proudly.

“I’m so glad you guys are back!” He said, energetic as always. Armin thought wryly that you would have thought they’d been gone for two years instead of two weeks. But it still made that faint, warm glow in his chest when he realised that the others really _had_ missed him; really were happy to see them all back.

Erwin came out and shook their hands, one after the other. For a moment, Armin thought his boss might actually hug him, but clearly Erwin reconsidered.

“How was _Chicago_?” Connie demanded, placing emphasis on the word in his excitement.

Armin smiled, holding up his hands to keep the short man from physically jumping on top of him. Reiner and Bertholdt set their suitcases in the safety of their office…and then conveniently disappeared. Armin huffed a breath when he realised that he was alone, but he didn’t complain about it. After the events of the past two weeks, he wasn’t really interested in assigning blame. In fact, the only thing he was set on was unpacking his clothes and then going to see Eren.

Erwin gave them the afternoon off, insisting that they’d earned a brief rest. He was honestly pleased to have all three of them back safe and sound, and the knowledge gave Armin a warm feeling.

“Where’s Jean?” He asked, remembering his co-worker almost with a start.

One of the employees that Armin didn’t know blinked, pointing outside, past the stairs. “He _was_ in the yard, last I saw. Looked a little put out about somethin’; don’t know exactly what.”

“Thank you,” Armin nodded, hurrying down the hall and towards the back door. He threw it open and ran out a few steps, enjoying the warm air and sunshine on his face. “Jean?”

No reply.

“ _Jean!”_ Armin shouted, cupping his mouth with his hands.

A muffled grunt answered him, and Jean arose like some scruffy-headed spectre from beneath a car. His hands were smeared with oil, and a smudge of grease was semi-permanently fixed on his cheek. Armin smiled, turning towards him, but not moving yet.

“Jean,” he said again, letting the sheer happiness in his voice speak for him.

The aforementioned mechanic came forward, wiping his hands clean. Dropping it to the ground, he suddenly threw his arms around Armin’s waist. “I thought you weren’t back ‘till tomorrow!”

Armin grinned back. “Maybe they wanted to surprise you. And please don’t get engine grease from your face on my cotton shirt.”

Jean backed away a step or two, looking sheepish. He didn’t look worse for wear, Armin noted, but there was a tiredness in his eyes that hadn’t been there when Armin had left. Armin wished he could find someone to wipe it away, even if he never would be.

“You look kinda radiant,” Jean said with that easy frankness that Armin had grown to appreciate. “Did you have a good time in Chicago?”

Armin’s eyes shone, hands subconsciously clasping themselves. “Jean, it was _wonderful._ I wish so much that you had come with me.”

Jean went red, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “’S probably better that I didn’t. I needed to get some stuff here done…”

Armin nodded, expression falling a little. “Right.”

Jean smiled at him, gesturing a hand to the open expanse of yard that Armin suddenly realised he had missed, a lot. “You’re welcome to join me.”

“Erwin gave me the afternoon off…” Armin frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “What the hell? I don’t care if I don’t get paid. Where’s my toolbox?”

Jean’s smile actually looked real.

-=-=-=-=-

By the time he finished, Armin wasn’t sure what he should do; go home to clean his room and take his clothes out of their suitcase, or head straight to Wall Maria. The sun was hanging low in the sultry summer sky, and he realised that he was sweating. Definitely home first, then. He could get to the bar with plenty of time to spare. But first…

He turned to Jean, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. He wasn’t sure anymore how Jean would respond to anything, and he was treading water lightly. “What will you do, Jean?”

“Tonight, you mean?” The older boy looked at him quizzically.

Armin nodded, making a quick decision. “You could come to Wall Maria with me, if you wanted. I’d like a chance to relax a little after that trip,” he smiled.

Jean’s face went slightly red, but it might have been the effects of the sunset playing tricks on Armin’s eyes. He shook his head, and clapped a hand on Armin’s shoulder. “I think “I’m gonna write home tonight, so I’d better get back to get started on it.”

The smaller man nodded, putting his tools safely away. “Okay. Be safe, Jean.”

Jean gave him an odd look, but didn’t press him on it. His taller co-worker seemed wrapped up in something, and Armin didn’t even want to draw attention to it. If he did that, it might get worse.

They said their goodbyes at the gate and parted ways. The fading sunlight cast golden rays over Jean’s strange hair, and Armin watched him go for a moment before calling a cab. He got into the first one that came along, his expression brightening instantly.

“Levi!”

The small man in the front adjusted his cap, as if it would shield him from Armin’s unwanted attention. “That’s my name.”

Armin didn’t know why he couldn’t stop smiling. He slammed the door shut and Levi began driving. “Where to?”

“Oh, um, yes.” It was all he could do while rattling the location off to not lean up and point in the direction. And the places around, and back to where he worked.

“Were you walking by that place?” Levi inquired, unexpectedly curious.

“Shinganshina?”

“Uhuh.”

Armin shook his head, blonde hair tickling his cheeks. “No, I work there. I’m a mechanic; Erwin Smith is my boss. You might have heard of him?”

He didn’t know why Levi seemed to stiffen, just momentarily, before going back to his normal position. But when he spoke, his voice came out normally. “A mechanic, huh?”

“Mhm. It’s not as exciting as being a cabby and _driving_ the cars, I’m sure, but I like it.”

Levi snorted, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Kid, I get a lot of weird people every day. I don’t know if that’s _exciting,_ but it pays the rent.”

“Well, then,” Armin looked at him a little slyly. “Aren’t you glad you get people like me sometimes?”

Levi huffed out a breath that might have been a laugh. Armin briefly wondered what he’d sound like if he just let go and actually let himself. “Sure, kid.”

“You know my name is Armin.”

“I know the queen’s name is Elizabeth, but that isn’t what people call her,” Levi shot back, sounding almost bored. Armin chose to interpret it as him enjoying the conversation.

Before he could think of a decent reply, Levi pulled up to the sidewalk outside the house. Armin fished out the appropriate fare and got out, waving to him. “You know, that cap you wear so often is really useless, Levi.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Armin smiled. “I know you’re actually a very nice person underneath that hat.”

Levi didn’t answer for a moment, and when he did, his voice was a little quieter. Armin wondered how far that bravado he fearlessly held up really went. “Maybe re-evaluate your facts, Armin.” Then he started up the gas and drove away, leaving Armin outside. It wasn’t until he was upstairs, past Alice and Joseph in the living room, in his own bedroom, before he realised that Levi had used his name.

-=-=-=-=-

The cab driver was unsurprisingly (but disappointingly) not Levi, when Armin got out and headed to Wall Maria. But he was so excited, his stomach in such a tangle, that it probably wouldn’t have mattered. He practically leapt out when the cab drew up and passed the driver the money he had already counted out three times. Then he hurried to the door, throwing it open and stopping at the staircase.

Armin’s steps faltered slightly as his fingers gripped the balustrade. He could hear, coming from above him, jaunty music, and the sound of people laughing. A perfect little advertisement to anyone coming up the stairs of this place.

There was no need to be hesitating. Maybe it was that natural human doubt that cropped up every time you went away. _Do they remember me? Are they going to notice I’m back?_ Though whether these questions were directed at Eren or _everyone,_ he wasn’t sure.

Slowly, he climbed the stairs, lights flickering off his face and sounds echoing off his skull. He took a moment’s pause at the top, face bright with smiling as he took everything in again. There was Petra, serving drinks at a table, a dark haired girl he didn’t recognise collecting glasses, and-

His heart gave a funny little lurch in his chest, threatening to roll over without his permission. Though he could not see it, a stranger nearby could have told him that his smile went dangerously softer, shoulders relaxing under his jacket. Someone familiar with the sensation might have said, _he looks like he’s home._

And perhaps he was.

Eren was making a drink for an older woman and hadn’t even looked up yet, let alone seen him. His green eyes were narrowed in concentration, tan fingers mixing amber and honey-coloured liquid. His hair looked slightly longer, too, but his grin was just the same.

Armin tore his gaze away and looked for an empty table. There was one close to the stage area, a little too under the bright lights for his liking, but a seat was a seat, after all. He made his way over and sat down, pushing his chair in closer to the table. His eyes strayed towards the bar again, noting with pleasure the rows of clean, shining glasses and the cleaning cloths folded in an organised stack.

_At least it didn’t fall apart in my absence,_ he thought with some amusement.

“Armin!”

Petra’s cheerful voice startled him, but he was already grinning as she came around the table to face him. “Petra. It’s so good to see you again.”

“Same to you.” She punched his arm lightly. “Where were you? I was beginning to fear the worst.”

“The worst?” Armin’s eyebrows lifted.

She nodded solemnly. “I thought you’d gone to the bar across town.”

“Is it really so bad?”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve been there,” she admitted. “But I guess if you’d been going to it for two weeks in a row, it couldn’t be _too_ bad. Unless they had a cute bartender you were interested in.”

Stupid light. Armin resisted the blush he felt creeping up his cheeks and prayed that it wasn’t obvious. Petra only winked. “Can I get you a drink Mr. Arlert? You look like you might need to cool down.”

Armin relaxed, resisting the urge to flick his gaze to the bar again. “Got anything good?”

“Do we have anything good,” she scoffed, reaching in her apron as if looking for something. Her eyes widened a few moments later, and she looked up. “Darn, I forgot my notepad. I wrote all of the drinks that are new down in it. Let me grab Eren for you while I find it.”

She was gone before Armin had the chance to respond, red hair gleaming in the light.

Armin breathed through his nose, mind giddy. _Eren, Eren, Eren,_ his mind echoed in a mantra. His fingers played with the candle on the table, wondering idly what its purpose was. Surely not for light, as the light above his own head was far brighter than necessary anyway.

“I heard you needed some selection help,” a familiar voice above him said, tones laced with a grin.

Armin looked up, chest seizing as it took in Eren, Eren’s closeness, his smile, his voice _again._

“A little,” he replied, fingers letting go of the candle as he turned in his chair. “I was gone for a while, you see. I’m not sure what’s here anymore.”

Eren’s eyes were warm, brown fingers twirling the pen he held in his left hand, notepad in the other. He glanced down at the latter, brow furrowing as he flipped through the pages. “Let’s see…we have this awesome cocktail crafted by yours truly with orange and vanilla, um…a few new beers…a bourbon with sugared lemon rind-“

“Eren.”

The taller boy glanced down, chewing on the end of his pen.

“You know I have literally never finished an alcoholic drink you’ve given me.”

Eren paused, taking the pen out of his teeth. “So you haven’t.”

Armin smiled. “But I’m sure they’re all splendid.”

Eren did a little bow, subsequently dropping his precariously held pen to the floor. Armin thought he might abruptly explode with fondness.

Sheepishly, the dark haired boy reached down to scoop it up. Eren paused, leaning on his heels, face shadowed enough to almost kiss him. For a moment, Armin thought he might, breath stuttering.

“I missed you.” His voice was a thread, barely slipping out of his mouth where it had been hiding in his throat.

Eren stood up, still looking down at him, and for a few moments Armin might have thought he was the only thing worth noticing in the room.

And perhaps he was.

“You like lemonade, right?”

Armin blinked. “Very much, why?”

“I’ll be back in a few minutes.” Eren scribbled something down. “Sit tight, pretty thing.”

Armin watched him go, head still slightly flurried and glancing around the bar. “Where else am I going to go?” He asked aloud, to no one.

-=-=-=-=-=-

True to his word, Eren was back in a few minutes, with a tall glass of iced lemonade. Or, Armin was assuming lemonade. Eren was beaming like a puppy, excitement clear on his face.

“Try it!” He urged. “I made it.”

“I hope so,” Armin replied drily, taking a sip.

“No, I mean, I concocted it or…whatever.” Eren rolled his eyes, going slightly red. “For you.”

“It tastes delicious,” Armin said honestly. “What’s in it?”

“Lemonade stuff, soda water, mint, and honey. No alcohol whatsoever, promise.”

Armin felt absurdly pleased. Maybe the distance had turned him flighty. He took another sip, the bubbles washing down his throat to match the ones rising in his chest. “Thank you. For going to the trouble.” He smiled and stirred his straw.

Eren waved a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I need to get back, but.” He winked. “Can I see you after?”

Armin nodded. “Please.”

Eren’s hand just barely brushed his shoulder as he turned, heading back to the bar.

-=-=-=-=-=-

Armin’s lemonade concoction was excellent, and he tried to make it last as long as possible. A few couples started dancing, and he watched them with a smile etched on his face. He felt slightly giddy, nerves dancing to the beat his heart was playing, feeling content for the first time in awhile.

He looked up to a tap on his shoulder, and saw Petra set down a small silver platter with a slip of paper folded on it.

“Your receipt, sir,” she announced, and hurried to her next table a few feet away.

Armin unfolded the paper, brow furrowing before he realised. It wasn’t a receipt, it was a note, written in what must have been Eren’s (slightly blotted) handwriting.

_i get off at 7:30_

_if i go out the side door_

_you can meet me there_

_p.s. the drink was on the house_

Armin’s mouth quirked in amusement at the note, but felt his cheeks grow warm. He folded the note again and tucked it into his wallet, close to Eren’s telegram. He resisted the urge to squirm like a child, delight filling his brain like helium. He checked his watch-6:57. He could wait thirty-three minutes. Hell, he’d already waited two weeks.

He noticed the dark-haired girl again as she came to take his empty glass. Curiosity overcame him, and he looked at her. “Who are you, if you don’t mind me asking? I’ve never seen you working here before.”

“I’ve never seen _you_ here before,” she pointed out. Armin thought back to two weeks ago, and conceded her point. “Ymir.”

“Excuse me?”

“The name.” She rolled her eyes slightly. “It’s Ymir.” Then she carried his glass off before he could utter another word.

Armin chose not to pursue the topic, then saw Eren momentarily and smiled before turning around again. A few new people carried their drinks over from the bar and set them on a table so they could dance. He listened to their lively chatter, wondering what their lives were like. Two girls and one young man, his honest face somewhat overwhelmed.

“C’mon, Tom, just take turns with us!” One of the girls encouraged, face flushed.

He waved his hands, taking a slight step back. “I can’t just _choose.”_

The other girl rolled her eyes, looking around the room until she spotted Armin. She brightened instantly and waved to him. “Hey, this fish doesn’t wanna pick one of us and dance. Think you could step in and do a round or two?”

Armin smiled, amused by her boldness. He had half an hour to kill and essentially no reason to say No. So, he stood up. “Sure.”

She grinned. “Okay, you can dance with me.” She turned her head. “Mina, can you take Tom?”

“Sure thing,” her friend replied, glancing at the flustered Tom in a way that clearly conveyed he had no choice.

The music from the gramophone was cheerful and quick, and Armin liked the girl he was dancing with already.

“So, what’s your handle?” She asked, speaking slightly in rhythm with the song as she concentrated on keeping up.

“Armin. You?”

“Hannah,” she smiled. “Sorry about the short notice and all.”

Armin twisted and dipped her close to the ground, shrugging in the beat of stillness. “Don’t mention it.”

“You’re pretty good,” she commented, after a few moments of silence. There was no trace of shyness or even flattery in her voice.

Armin grinned, slowing as the gramophone flipped to a slower song. “Not so bad yourself.”

“This is, like, my third time dancing in public, actually,” Hannah admitted. “I’m trying to like it more.”

“You didn’t like dancing in public before?” Armin wondered, hand sliding to get a better grip on her waist.

She shrugged. “I don’t like people paying attention to me.”

Armin nodded. “I know the feeling.”

“Yeah? Then what’s your issue?”

For a moment, Armin hesitated. She was a friendly girl, and if she figured anything out whatever way, he’d probably never see her again regardless. Besides, he didn’t have to go into specifics…

“Just been that way as long as I can remember,” he lifted his shoulders slightly. “I’m trying to work through that, too.”

“Mm,” she nodded, but didn’t add anything. For a while, once again, there was only the music and the combined noises of the four dancers.

Armin glanced over towards Eren once or twice, but the bartender only caught his glance once, when he reached up to get a fresh glass. Armin nodded at him, and Eren lifted his hand in a little wave. He seemed slightly confused by what was going on, but amusement was clear on his face, and Armin felt happy. 7:30 was already approaching quickly and his stomach was tingling in anticipation. Or maybe that was just the drink Eren had given him.

As he was straightening his clothes and preparing to make his farewell, Hannah moved to the table to sip her drink, and looked at him. “See you ‘round?”

Armin grinned. “We both need to get over that public fear, right?”

She nodded, setting her glass down with a _clink!_ “Definitely.”

Armin wave to her friends, and then strode to the stairs. Once behind the safety of the door, he ran down them two at a time until he pushed through the door and ran around the building.

Eren was sitting on the stairs, dark hair gleaming in the dim light. He stood up when Armin came around the corner, arms opening for the blonde boy to fling himself into.

“Eren,” he whispered, but they both heard the _I’m home_ in it.

Eren bent down and their lips finally met, breathing air from each other’s lungs, hands tangling in hair and jackets and shoulders.

Armin wrapped his arms around his neck, breathing in the warm scent of it with a sigh.

“Missed you,” Eren breathed.

Armin didn’t respond verbally, choosing instead to just tighten his arms and pull Eren a little closer to him.

_Please let me always stay this close._

They stayed that way for several long moments, enjoying the quiet and each other’s presence after the noise, and lights of inside. Eren was always so warm; even his hands weren’t cold from the night air as they rested on his cheeks for a moment. Armin stood still, perfectly quiet, as if afraid to break the blissful silence that had settled. His pulse thrummed warm and low in his chest after it had spiked harder than when he’d seen Chicago from the prow of that boat.

Eventually, however, it had to end. They didn’t have control over that fact; the _this moment must pass_ of it all, but they could decide _how._ Eren took a step back to place his hands on Armin’s shoulders, excitement written all over his face.

“Tell me about it,” he said, demanded, _smiled._

_You tell that smile No like you tell the sun not to rise,_ Armin thought hopelessly, and smiled right back at him. “There’s too much to say right here. We’ll be standing here until Three AM if I decided to narrate right now.”

Eren scrunched up his nose for a moment as he thought, turning as if to survey his options. When he looked at Armin again, his tone was hopeful. “Come home with me?”

Immediately, Armin’s softly thrumming pulse kicked like engine of a new car. He could feel his cheeks warming, breath liquid in his throat as he glanced at the pavement for a split second. Eren knew what he was asking. Armin knew he wanted what Eren was asking.

So he looked up. “Okay,” was all he said, and perhaps that was not enough for some people. Perhaps a whole sentence would have been necessary, but Eren, ( _bless him)_ understood. His hands reluctantly slipped from Armin’s shoulders, both of them straightening out of the pose of _guilty lovers_ to _tired pedestrians._ Armin could play that part, if it meant he got to play the sounds Eren made later, if he could be a _lover_ and not just _tired._ It was a promise he made to himself, silent as the streetlamp above him as they set off. The sidewalks, as always, had a few people on them, and a car drove by every few minutes or so. But to Armin it felt as if they were almost invisible; like the weak yellow light shining on them cast a glow that made them translucent.

Then he turned his head and Eren smiled at him, and Armin felt as solid and _real_ as the surface of the earth itself.

“How has work been?” Armin asked, pushing away the silence, companionable as it might have been.

Eren thought for a moment, eyes fixed on the sky above them. “I saw you talking to Ymir, so you know we hired a new person. Umm…we’re designing our fall drinks menu. That lemonade I made you earlier?” He grinned, shooting a look at Armin. “I didn’t just pull that out of my ass; I’ve been working on stuff like that for a week or so now. Petra wants to have everything decided before autumn even rolls around.”

Armin nodded. “That drink was amazing; they’re going to go over well, I promise.”

Eren flushed slightly, turning his glance ahead once more. “I hope so. Some of the ingredients are expensive, and I was worried Petra wouldn’t let me order any of them. But she said that she’d trust my judgement, and if I thought they’d sell well, she’d allow it.” His green eyes shone softly in the dim street light, fists clenching at his sides. “I could do so much more than just a few drinks, though, Armin.”

“What would you do, then?” Armin inquired, barely listening. He was drinking in the excitement on Eren’s face, the residual redness on his cheeks, the eager fiddling of his hands. Eren really was beautiful when he was happy, and especially when talking about things that _made_ him happy.

He realised Eren was speaking, and tuned himself back in with a little shake of his head.

“…Could have a drink menu where people decided what drinks they want, and I make it for them. Or if they don’t know, they can choose flavours they like, like lemon or vanilla, and I’ll make it into something for them.”

“I thought you could do that already?” Armin inquired. They were almost at Eren’s apartment now, and the shadows slatted over Eren’s face in odd shapes. “Decide what you want in your drink, and whatnot.”

Eren waved a hand. “Kind of. You can ask for a certain kind of alcohol, but that’s really it. Like, I think that drinks go way beyond just what alcohol’s in them, y’know?” He fished out his key and unlocked the door.

Armin nodded, smile playing around his mouth. He’d never heard Eren go so in-depth about his job before. “I think I understand that. It’s like when people think that a car is just an engine and some fancy finishings. It’s so much more intricate than that.”

“Intricate.” Eren flicked on the lights and nodded his head. “Yeah. I like that word.”

Armin took a step towards him, adrenaline prompting him to curl his arms around Eren’s waist, eyes fixed on him. It took him reaching onto his tiptoes, but he nuzzled the space just below Eren’s ear, voice a murmur. “I _like_ you, you know.”

Eren was still for a moment, and he wondered briefly if he’d gone too far. He was about to step back and apologise when the welcome curl of Eren’s arms surrounded him, and a pair of warm lips nudged at his own.

“You, too,” he mumbled, pressing kisses into Armin’s _hotsoftbeautiful_ lips. “A lot. A lot lot.”

Armin grinned against his mouth, fingers reaching up to card through Eren’s hair. His body was humming now, no longer content to be _just kissing._ He thought for a moment on how he should _say_ that, and then decided that words weren’t really necessary at all. His hands were already reaching up, pushing Eren’s shirt collar and scrabbling at buttons with an impatience he barely recognised. He felt Eren’s own rise to help; _how could these buttons be so_ small? He wondered.

The next few minutes robbed them of their shirts, the decency of their hair, the breath from their lungs, and was sending them both stumbling towards Eren’s bedroom quickly.  With a light shove, Armin fell onto the sheets, moving backwards as Eren crawled up the bed’s length to kiss him again. Their lips met, again and again, seemingly unable to get enough, and not dreaming of finding a stop. Helping Eren push off his pants, the dark-haired boy ground his hips. Oh, that simply wasn’t _fair,_ Armin wanted to complain, head falling back in a fan of golden hair, moan trickling from his lips.

Eren lapped it up like he was dying of thirst, fingers reaching to unbutton Armin’s trousers, pushing them down. He followed the downward path with his lips, kissing collarbones, ribcage, hips, stopping for a moment to inhale the scent just below the thatch of blonde hair.

Armin shifted, and his voice was cracked like pottery. “Eren, _please._ ”

With a muffled curse, Eren reached for him again, sinking into the soft welcome of Armin’s arms, kissing his slack mouth senseless.

The growl registered low in Armin’s throat before he even realised it, almost as fast as he was wrapping his legs tighter around Eren’s waist; flipping over with a savage sort of gracefulness.

Now it was Armin’s turn to lean over him, breathing the softest of poetry into his neck. It rippled like waves in a pool, between speaking and thinking. They came to him without his knowledge or consent, but somehow they seemed to fit.

_I am not ready for repentance;_

_Nor to match regrets._

Eren tilted his neck and moaned like the most beautiful poetry Armin could think of. People were ready to call this _wrong,_ to say that anything he did here was corrupt and _saddening._ But he was not sad; his body thrumming with energy and a beautiful boy spread out below him, lips slack with pleasure. Armin bent to kiss them; press kisses to his face.

_Kisses are,--_

_The only worth all granting._

His own body was crying out with need, pleading for Eren to touch him with those work-tanned hands, to make a poem out of him.

Maybe Eren knew this request, or maybe he could just sense it from Armin. He rose up to meet him halfway, shifting the smaller one onto his lap and running dark fingers through light hair. What a pretty picture, Armin thought dimly, imagining it in his mind for a moment before Eren took over all of it.

_It is to be learned--_

_This cleaving and this burning._

Armin sighed out a breath when Eren moved again, and this time it was with _intent,_ with a firm understanding of what was about to happen.

Maybe he was pleasure-addled, or maybe it was just the poetry lighting up every nerve in him with bright fire. But their actions seemed to blur, the dark skin seemed to blend with the light; the sounds tossed back and forth like a little ocean to themselves.

He moaned when Eren’s fingers pressed their way inside, golden head falling on a strong shoulder. It’s strange and different and suddenly so _good_ as he adjusts, and Armin sighs against his ear.

_Then, drop by caustic drop, a perfect cry_

_Shall string some constant harmony.—_

He vaguely heard Eren asking him if this was _alright,_ if he should keep going, and nodding almost violently.

“Don’t stop,” he said, words tumbling from his mouth where they had been tucked in his head. “Not _now,_ not ever.”

He heard Eren give something like a huff of laughter as he shifted, and then Armin’s fingers were tightening and curling at the back of his neck, and there _had to be scratch marks now but-_

Eren didn’t fuck like _fucking._ He moaned and sighed and made sounds that verged past pornographic into something like _ethereal._ His hands moved, glided, pulled over Armin’s skin until things like _you_ and _I_ melded into _his skin on my skin_ and _there is nothing in between._

Everything was sublime. Everything was like a ship moving over warm waves, like a raindrop causing a perfect ripple in a lake, like two young bodies flush together exactly as they should be. It didn’t matter so much that Armin wasn’t sure what he was doing, because Eren seemed just as lost. But they were both so, so eager to find their way. Eren was caving a way inside him from the tingling toes of his feet to his shaking knees, his hips with Eren’s tan fingers wrapped around them, his heaving chest. Armin opened his eyes to look down again, fingers reaching down to comb through wild brown hair, lips hurrying to chase the sweat gleaming on Eren’s chin.

_There is the world dimensional for those untwisted_

_by the love of things irreconcilable . . ._

And then everything was falling, or maybe flying, and the ominous quality of those words didn’t even register with him. Because this was _Eren,_ and he was trembling underneath Armin’s hands, looking up at him like he was poetry itself.

And perhaps he was.

He rolled over, immediately curling into Eren’s welcoming arms, a soft sigh breathed from his mouth. Of course, they needed to clean up, and Eren had wanted to _talk,_ and he was so suddenly so _tired._

It didn’t help that Eren was carding through his hair, covers pulled up around them snugly. Armin sighed again, and let himself slip into the rest his body was begging for. There would be time…there would be time.

Ten minutes later, they lay asleep, the dark and the light, curled together as lovers were wont to do. Armin sighed in his sleep, nestling his cheek on Eren’s chest. Even in sleep, the steady beat of the heart underneath strong muscle lulled him into peacefulness, and a deeper sleep than he’d had for a long time. 

_Permit me voyage, love, into your hands..._

-=-=-=-=-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The snippets of poetry Armin was reciting/thinking came from a poet named Hart Crane. He wrote a series of poems called White Buildings, ‘fuelled’ by a love affair he had with a Danish merchant named Emil Opffer, in 1926. 
> 
> Yeah, I guess they have no stamina. Oh, well. They WILL talk in the next chapter, though, promise! :)
> 
> [Surprise domestic sexytimes for all your Eruri needs](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5905714/chapters/14071531)


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